The Mad And Angry Beginning

June 6, 2012

The Mad and Angry Beginning 

90 pounds to go

This is me.  This is my body.

So, I started a diet about 3 weeks ago and I'm hungry all the time.  It's the basic calorie restriction; math is math - if you cut 3500 calories a week from your at-rest metabolism (1800 for me) you will lose 1 pound per week.  It sounds simple.  I've been eating (or trying to) 1400 calories a day and I spend the majority of the day rationalizing with myself when really I'm just starving.  It feels like I've finally reached that point in my life where I've lived long enough and struggled with my weight long enough that nothing fucking works.  There is no fad that's going to make the weight fall off and keep it off.  The traditional count-your-shit seems to be the-boring-but-it-works solution.

I've heard that when you truly start dieting like I have recently  you can go into a "food mourning" period.  A grief stage for us food addicts.  Mine seems to be particularly grueling.  I've added and deleted about 3 bulky paragraphs trying to describe this but it sounds like lunatic raving so I'm leaving it out.  But believe me when I say: 'sister, I'm a-mournin'. 

The other thing that irritates me is that I've recently seen a lot of articles come out by people who talk about their weight loss journey after the battle is over.  (A.k.a. "Summer is here, time to start thinking about all those cheese doodles you ate over the winter.")  Not that they don't deserve kudos - they do, but all the work is done.  We hear about the battle after the war is won, not while they are struggling.  And as with any struggle in my life, it always seems like it wasn't so bad once it's done.  But man, while you're in the thick of swinging the sword all bets are off.  I hear the "oh it was tough" and "here's my embarrassing and shameful habit I had" but they've conquered it.  It's not the same to recollect reaching for the twinkie in a time of need compared to when you're actually forcing your ass to get out and walk so you don't raid the fridge even though there's nothing interesting in there. 

Fuck you

AND THEN.  And then there's my own body image.  Here's the thing, I'm not a skinny girl right now.  But I don't consider myself a whale.  When I first went to the weight loss clinic to have my scary "initial diagnosis" the scale tipped much higher than I thought was on my body.  Granted, in the last 2 months I've put on weight - probably 15-20 pounds which pushed me to the point of being uncomfortable in my own body.  I have been so stressed out with my job that I literally was eating everything that wasn't nailed down.  Big Thai lunch, or noodles and then for dinner a fuck-off sandwich and a beer.  Wasn't that a shocker when I found out that I was probably packing in 2500 - 3000 calories a day.  However, before my recent stress eating binge, I was really happy with myself.  I felt good in my own body.  Yes, I have a gut but I know how to dress myself so people look at my succulent curves instead.  My body idol is Joan from Mad Men, and there are days when I feel as bad-ass as her.

Yes Joan, I have a girl crush on you

So here's the thing: I went into the weight loss clinic and they told me I need to lose 100 pounds.  That is a fucking daunting number to deal with.  This is not me fishing for compliments, but I just don't feel like I LOOK like a 100 pound overweight whale.  But seeing that number and dealing with this food restriction certainly makes me feel like one.  It's like all that power and belief in myself got taken away in one swoop with the body that a weight loss clinic told me that I am supposed to have.  Well, I've lost 10 pounds so now there's only 90 left to go.  But here's the question I'm dancing around to get to: do I have a misperception on how I look?  Do I really look like someone who seriously needs to lose weight and am deluding myself because I happen to like the way I look?  Do I have a skinny spirit inside a more-than-voluptious body?  Every time I see pictures of myself I cringe but when I look in the mirror I feel good.

I could go into more specifics: I wear between a 14 and a 16 and I'm 5 foot 4.  If I loose 100 pounds I will be a 6.  Maybe even a 4. Although in expensive clothes probably still an 8 because women's wear is fucked with sizing.  When I've told those who are close to me that the number is 100 pounds they give me statements of disbelief.  Is it because we're all used to people being at least overweight if not obese?  Is it comfort talk?  Is it somewhere in the middle?  I'm finding more and more recently (like within the last 2 months) women who are seriously obese come up to me and saying things like "us girls have to stick together on this" and it makes me cringe inside.  I don't feel like I'm part of a fat club that needs defending.  I just feel like myself.  That alone and that fucking number I saw at the clinic have motivated me to take me this far, but dieting from a place of shame never really worked for me.  Like, oh my god I'm a horrible looking cow so I need to continue to starve myself.  I just don't know where to find this happy place in the middle to make this a journey rather than an all-out battle with my body.

I hear the blast of the battle horn in my head.  Let the games begin.

Freedom!