Today is study day! So before I get stuck on the computer I am posting one of my bipolar blog archives for you today. I’m not as gloomy on my outlook of my weight as I was last year, so don’t mind the emo ending :)
This blog is dated May 31, 2010.
I like being alone. I always have. At family events at my home growing up, I would come downstairs to make an appearance, then go back up to my room and shut the door. Maybe it's because I can do what I want when I'm alone; no one is judging me or telling me what I should or should not do. The funny thing is, I was never without a boyfriend in my high school years. I think the idea that even though I liked being alone, I liked the thought that there was someone that loved me, that wanted to be around me, and I could share my thoughts and ideas with. I was so co-dependent with guys. I felt like if we broke up, it was the end of the world. I'm pretty sure that's not the depression-I'm pretty sure it's because I was a teenage girl? As soon as a relationship would end, I would latch right on to the next guy that showed interest. It's funny, I started writing this blog to profile my love affair with food, and it kind of went in a different direction. The segue with being alone was the fact that when I am alone, I can truly do whatever I want, which includes eating whatever I want and how much of it I want without anyone watching me or telling me that it's wrong or bad.
As a teen, I was "average", varying between 130 and 140 lbs at 5'7". Of course I always thought I was fat because I was still wearing the higher junior sizes of 9 and 11. Food wasn't really on my radar; I can't look back and picture a day where I binged or went out of my way to eat copious amounts of food. Actually, I would get lunch money every day while some of my friends did not, and I always shared my food with them. When I got pregnant at 17, I was 150 when they weighed me for my first prenatal appointment-a true heffer. I ended up gaining 51 pounds because I subscribed to the fact that I was "eating for 2", "it's all baby weight", "I'll be the weight I was as soon as he's born", etc. On my son's first birthday I was 159, which was unacceptable, but I had never had to diet or exercise before. By this point I was not a teen, I was an adult working for a living, and I didn't feel like I could be careless as a parent. In my high school years I dabbled in drugs, but even the thought of doing them as an adult was out of the question because I have to be a role model for my son. I worked in a casino where all of the snack bar food was half-off, and they had my favorite foods: nachos, patty melts, chicken fingers with ranch, ice cream. My job was also a sedentary one, so I ended up putting on 20 lbs in a year. When I met my first boyfriend after my son was born, I would go to his place after work and we would rent movies and stop by Circle K and pick up Ben & Jerry's, pumpkin seeds, and one-liter Pepsi's. I was about a size 14 or 16 then, and even though I was "fat", I was still finding clothes that fit at The Gap, NY & Co, and Hot Topic, so it was okay.
Fast forward a few years and I'm in a bad relationship, not working due to stress and depression for a year, and barely making ends meet. My live-in boyfriend was out doing God knows what, and I was driving through McDonalds getting a large Double Quarter Pounder meal with 20 chicken nuggets and a McFlurry. Daily. It was the only time I would leave the house, and it was the only time I felt satisfied. I would bite into the burger and the comfortable feeling would flood into my head and I would be happy. I would continue to eat even when I was stuffed and the food had no more taste to it because there was still food on the table. By the time I left my boyfriend and moved home, I was 221 pounds and in a size 18/20 at Lane Bryant. When I moved back home, I had to sleep in my son's race car bed. I had to put everything I owned in storage. I had no boyfriend, and I needed a job. I needed to get my shit together. I went to the doctor and found out I was pre-diabetic, which meant my blood sugar levels were on the threshold of becoming out of whack. My best friend was my savior. His own diabetes helped me realize I really didn't need that cheesecake slice when we would go out to eat. (Doesn't that sound awful? "Your diabetes saved me!") He also was my object of pure love and affection, which he fought off on a regular basis due to the fact that I had a LOT of demons I needed to figure out before I could be in a healthy, stable relationship (summed up in this statement: "You're not girlfriend material"). He also happened to be a black belt in karate, and taught me how to kick box (hes a triple threat!). I had gotten back down to 180 pounds, had the confidence to get my dream job, and to also make it on my own by moving out of my parents house after three years and moving out and relying on myself. (P.S. We finally ended up together)
Now, everything is a blur. You may have read my blogs where "Old Hed" is not me. I don't know where it went wrong, but I slowly gained weight after getting into a truly healthy relationship where I was unconditionally loved. I'm pretty sure that's not the depression-I think it's because I was a happy girlfriend? I weighed 200 pounds on my wedding day, roughly 18 months ago. Something clicked in me shortly after where I realized I had the great husband, the great job, the great house. I started growing increasingly anxious, that something terribly bad was going to happen; that there was nowhere else to go but down. I quit my job without notice, stopped going to school, and shut down completely. I am now 100 pounds overweight, depending on what “ideal weight” guide you look at. I can go on and on. These are the thoughts that run through my head on a regular basis. I don't spend intimate time with my husband anymore. I wear sweat pants. I've stopped wearing make-up. If you're like me, you may have watched a morbidly obese person stuck in a bed because they are so fat and thought, "how could they have let themselves get that FAT?" Well, if you're also like me, you have just stopped caring. Feeling. Being happy. When I have slept so much I can't sleep anymore and my husband is away, I am alone. I binge on food. I immediately feel at ease and happy when I eat. Even the feeling of fullness afterward makes me happy. When the feeling goes away, I am left with myself and my body and nothing else to feel. I truly loathe myself.
I have mentioned more than once to my husband if something like heroin wasn't illegal I would definitely try it. I see the emptiness behind addicts' eyes and I relate to it. The only way for them to take the pain away is to be high. That's how I feel with food. At this point, I don't know what else to do because I don't have the energy or motivation to make a change. See you at 300 pounds.