I write this post with an open heart, at an honest hour, and with the belief that I am not a lone solider riding this issue out (<— when I think of it like that, it helps me be honest).
Tonight after crossfit Matt surprised me with a really fancy dinner out. It was lovely. Just the two of us on the corner of this big table, talking about this and that. And this. God, where do I even begin? I feel like a fool writing this, because the whole thing should have already been obvious to me, but it wasn’t….
Even taking the time to pause and think, leaves me at a loss as to how this topic came up, but it did, and I spoke freely.
And I told him everything.
How my issues with food run deeper than most peoples. How it’s an obsession for me. An addiction. How I want something so badly, yet fail at it the majority of the days that pass through my life.
I told him how I bought three Lindt chocolates for him, but ate them before I saw him. Actually, I even told him how in that store I used him as an excuse, “I’m buying these for Matt,” knowing full well I’d eat them. I told him how I saved him a cupcake I baked at work, but on the train home all I could think of was, “I have a cupcake. I have a cupcake. I have a cupcake. I’m going to eat the cupcake the second I walk through my door.” And then I told him how I did.
I told him how after a night out two weeks ago with some friends, I stopped at a 7/11 on the way home. And I couldn’t just buy a single chocolate bar, because, well, y’know… the cashier would then know it was just for me. So I bought party packs. Of everything. $37 of everything. And pretended I was heading to a sugar induced 1am party. And then there I sat, on my bed, with my laptop on my knees, eating candy and Tim Tams. I felt sick. Really sick.
I confessed how when I was younger I used to plan out how to have more than one dinner. Go to a friends house. Eat dinner. Then come home and tell my mom, “nope. I haven’t had dinner yet.” Sometimes I’d be able to get away with three. I told Matt how I’d often claim, “I’ve hardly eaten anything today,” before dinners, to give myself an access pass to eat freely. And I told him how I’d walk to the fridge and cupboards 1,001 times a night trying to figure out what to snack on.
And then I paused, and asked,
"Does this come as a shock to you?
Was his response.
I was stunned.
How did he know?
"Well, I can see how much crossfit you’re doing, and how you’re counting your points, but something didn’t add up.
This hit me hard. Hard. And oh how obvious it is now. I am still overweight. Over one month of crossfit and nearly two months of Weight Watcher’s later, nothing much has changed. I’ve been living in this naive little world where I thought I was fooling everybody. If they saw me eating healthy, if they saw me working out, they’d think I was losing weight. False.
People are not stupid.
Someone walking down the street overweight, is overweight for a reason. They eat too much. It’s really rather simple. (And yes, I’m talking about the majority of people - I know some people have thyroid issues, and take certain medications that influence their weight. But facts are facts. The majority of people are overweight (myself included) because they eat too, damn, much.)
I still can’t believe Matt was onto me. And now come to think of it, my Mom definitely is too; “How’s your weight?” “Ummm, good, I’m doing WW and Crossfit and things are good. But my weight hasn’t changed… yet! But it will.” But it won’t. I work hard, I sweat, I count points, but none of it matters until I figure out why I feel the need to sit alone in my room and eat junk food when I spent the day (my life?) obsessing over losing weight.
Maybe you should talk to someone about it?
Yea. I was thinking that too. It’s weird to say it out loud. It’s just that. Well. What am I going to say? ‘Hi. My name is Liz and I’ve been trying to lose weight for nearly 25 years, but never have. Oh, but I know how to do it. I just don’t.”?
I’m not sad, or upset, or depressed about this. It is what it is. A reality to my life. A reality I’ve learned to live with over the last chunk of my life. But all I know is tonight, this June 13, 2012 night, was the first time I really spoke about it out loud and it felt really good.
I acknowledged (in a really big way - umm to my boyfriend!) there is something very wrong, something very not normal, with me. I heard the words coming out of my mouth. And for the first time, in twenty seven years, I decided I’m going to get professional help because without a doubt I now acknowledge, I’m not right.