I fixate on this number. I lust over this number. I want to get past this number. I want it like I want… never mind. Why? It’s the weight at which I started college. I pretended that I felt pretty at this weight. I didn’t really.
Looking back, there wasn’t anything all that fabulous about this weight, but when you’re at 296 and look like this (Yes, I actually was singing that song while pretending that my iPod was a microphone):
You tend to long for the days when you looked like this:
I used to call that the “This is what I’d look like if you were drunk” photo. Yeah, it’s a little creepy looking but I thought I was being cool. Please do judge me for that, I do.
Incidentally, that was also before my sinus issues made my nose go slightly crooked. Ah, the good old days! I foresee a nose job in my future. Not.
While there was absolutely nothing special about that 235, and when I think about it I wasn’t actually happy at that weight anyway, I fixated on it. At 296 it seemed like if I could get back to 235 I would get to start a whole new life and everything would become all kinds of fabulous.
I also felt pretty sure that no boy was going to like me until I got under that weight. I KNEW that I would fall in love when I hit 235. I also knew that I would be married at 19 so take that shit for what it’s worth… again, go ahead and judge me.
Having snuck in a mid-week “I’m too curious because I swear I look thinner this morning” weigh-in, and seeing that I’ve just broke into the high 230’s, the number is haunting me again. I want past it. I want it bad.
Yet, it has a different meaning to me now. Now, with the benefit of healthier emotions and hindsight, I can see that 235 was the weight at which depression conquered me for the second time. I was 220 the first time. Now it feels like getting past these weights will feel like I’m conquering those incidents. It was the same when I hit 265. Suddenly the car accident had less power over me.
Every one of these milestones feel like I’m shedding the damage of that particular weight and whatever happened at that weight. By beating the weight, I’m beating the trauma. By beating the trauma, I’m setting myself free. What could feel better than that?
And so I chase that 235 and hope that I don’t get stuck at it, processing, like I did when I hit 265. I chase that 220 and hope I’m ready to face the emotions. I chase 170 and hope that when I get there I’m ready to talk about what happened.
While so much of my weight loss is about vanity (Sorry I’m not sorry), it’s also about reclaiming what’s been lost… oh and health and all that jazz…
This process has been physically easy but emotionally hard. There’s been up, downs, emotional implosions, and so much laughter I can hardly believe it. The journey is a bumpy ride. Luckily I have built in padding. Hopefully I’ll need that less as it dissipates.
With a long way to go and plenty of numbers on which I can fixate like a crazy lady it’s exciting to be so close to something that was so significant and that I’ve fixated on for almost four years. It’s almost vindicating.
Prediction: you'll blow past 235 and it will never be seen or heard from again because the emotionally tough part means you've changed on the inside.
I'm a card carrying member of the crooked nose club. I accidentally tried to catch a line drive with my face during softball practice once. Oops.