Feeling a Little Validated

So I mostly secretly went and joined a gym again last week. Yay me! This one is very bells and whistles-y. Instead of the Planet Fitness do your own thing (which, don't get me wrong, I enjoyed immensely), this one has a bit more guidance. Every month, you can see a personal trainer, a nurse who does your measurements and runs a few quick tests, and a nutritionist. All of these things together make me hopeful for a bit more staying power. There's also classes, ridiculous amounts of equipment, a pool, a sauna...it's the business.

Today, I met with the nurse. I didn't know quite what to expect, since I've never really seen anyone specifically for weight loss and overall health improvement. I was kind of cranky because I intended to work out after I met with her, but I forgot my tennis shoes and towel. Oh well. Tomorrow is a new day.

She had my step on the scale, which was a bit daunting. I started this blog to be more honest and open with the world, so I'm going to tell you that I weigh more now than I have EVER BEFORE IN MY LIFE.

When I came back from the West Coast, I felt like a Weeble. I'm pretty sure if you knocked me over, I'd bounce right back up. I weighed in at 320, and I was embarassed and uncomfortable. I ate my feelings with great aplomb, and it showed.

Is that....creme brulee? I love creme brulee!

Today on the scale.... I weigh 340.

That hurts, right in my heart place.

The GOOD news is, my blood pressure is perfect. I knew that already.

The BAD news is, I'm barely flexible at all, I need to improve my bicep strength (doable), and y'know, lots of fat.

The very interesting news which harkens back to my title today, is something that was confirmed to be true.

I maintain that there is no way I could ever be 130lbs. If you use one of those fancy BMI charts, that's what it tells you I should weigh. Welp, it's a dirty liar.


In addition to the fact that I do enjoy food and don't intend to subsist on lettuce and tic tacs for the rest of my life, my important bits (bones, organs, muscle) weigh approximately 192 lbs. 

(Yes, this does mean I have 147lbs of fat on my frame. Yeah, that's a lot, yes yes, lots of work and such. To be discussed another time.)

This means, best case scenario, at optimum health and fitness I could weigh 200-215 I think?

Because you can't have NO body fat. That's unhealthy too.

Please don't think I'm using this as an excuse to eat Doritos and wear sweatpants forever.

I don't really like either of those things, tbh.

I will just be a very fit fat girl.

And I am totally and thankfully just fine with that.

It's ok to eat fish, 'cause they don't have any feelings

I feel like a dying star.

No, not in the way I did in 2008, when I thought I would drown in my anger. It was a terrible time, full of darkness and depression and unquellable rage.

I'm depressed, but it's different. I'm not angry, I'm just uncomfortable. There's never enough money. The house is too messy. I haven't been able to resolve my student loan issues. I'm not situationally depressed, despite how it may sound. It's chemical. And...I can't tell you the last time I took my antidepressant. Why do I do that? I know it helps, but it doesn't help. I believe I finally understand the Bipolar medicine cycle. While I do achieve a better baseline, I don't feel like dancing. I want to feel like dancing.

                                           SSRIs are where it's at.

I think after many years it may be time to switch. I've taken Wellbutrin for a long time, and it's the one antidepressant where I didn't have any weird side effects. Sometimes I miss Prozac, but it gave me really vivid dreams, and I would wake up exhausted.

The problem with my depression is it's not hard to hide, even if I'm not trying. Most days, I think I'm a pleasant and funny person. I try to bring joy and laughter wherever I go. Even when I feel awful and listless, you probably wouldn't know, unless you spent 24 hours a day with me. But...I come home, and I sit here and stare at the computer and do nothing. For HOURS. Really, I can't tell you what I'm doing because I don't know. I just zone out. I'm not productive. I'm not engaged in hobbies or pursuits to better my life. I'm just a lump here.

I've gained a lot of weight in the last few years. I am afraid of what the number is in a way I've never considered before. I haven't weighed myself in months. I tried yesterday to bite the bullet, but the batteries in my Wiimotes were dead. I'm concerned because I'm at a point where everything hurts, and I feel self concious. My "fat" clothes are too tight. I feel out of control, and that just makes me more sad and sedentary.

For a girl who's never been skinny, I never had self-image issues. I've always joked that I have the opposite of body dysmorphic disorder-I'm convinced that I look way better than I actually do. Self confidence is attractive, and it's served me well.

Except now, I feel like a bridge too far.

I'm afraid I might die young.

I'm afraid that no matter what I do, I'm just going to keep gaining weight until I can't move at all, or I just burst.

Everything hurts on my body, from my feet to my head.

I don't know how I can pull myself back from this abyss.

I can't afford to go to therapy, because my mental health copay is ridiculous.

I'm out of control, and I have no concept of self-care anymore. I don't even remember how to take care of myself.

I'm a magical thinker. I want miracles and white knights and financial windfalls. I don't like it when things are difficult. I've had to work hard for everything in my life, and I feel like I'm out of fight.

But I'm not a quitter.

I don't want to die.

I want to get my life under control and find ways to make it manageable.

I have to.


 

Beginning on a Controversial Note....Classy!

I've been feeling like beginning a blog for awhile now, but my life is so boring, I don't really believe it would be that interesting to anyone else. Alas, I feel like I need to unpack a news story today, albeit with a very unpopular opinion.

I'm speaking, of course, of the Ray Rice situation.

Now before an angry mob shows up at my door with torches and pitchforks, let me explain. I do not in any situation think it's appropriate to hit a woman. Really, I don't think anyone should be hitting anyone else, but I definitely and without question do not think a man should hit a woman.

When the story broke initially, my husband, who I adore and believe is a champion of women, was outraged. I was surprised, and disappointed, but I wanted more details. When video emerged of the incident aftermath (outside the elevator), it became apparent that something very bad had taken place, and that punishment was coming. But still...I didn't feel outraged. I mostly just felt sad, and maintained that we didn't know what happened in the before, so we couldn't make snap judgements.

Now that the Revel is out of business, the footage from the elevator has surfaced. Now that you actually see punches thrown, everyone is angrier. It's as if seeing the actual punches thrown makes it real.

I feel like an awful person, because I don't feel more outraged. I don't feel a bloodlust and a desire to make Ray Rice "pay." I just feel....so sad.

I'm sad...that it happened. I don't know why the two of them chose to escalate their arguement to the physical. I get that it wasn't self defense, as Ray Rice's wife is much smaller than him, and he obviously hit her much harder than she hit him.

I'm sad..that all the charity work he did for his anti-bullying campaign will be forgotten, and this will be his legacy.

I'm sad...that in essence, his life is ruined. I am honestly concerned that he may attempt to take his life in the near future. I can't even imagine.

I'm sad that I feel so much compassion and sadness for him, when he obviously did something horrible.

I think for me, it boils down to this: I have done a lot of things in the dark of my life that I would be horrified to have people see. I've made a lot of mistakes, and if this is how society reacts to someone making one (rather huge, awful and glaring) mistake, I hate to see what would happen if some of my bad behaviors were revealed.

Everyone deserves a second chance.

I realize this isn't a compelling argument. I don't think I could even make one. I'm embarassed that I feel this way.

I hope he is able to redeem himself.

I hope this was really just a one time thing.

I hope women who are being battered continually seek help, even though it is difficult.

I grew up in an abusive household. I saw first hand the toll domestic violence takes.

I also suffered violence at the hands of a loved one. I know how hard it can be to escape the cycle of abuse, and to not turn that abuse on others. I was shocked when I realized I possessed those traits, and if not watched dilligently, I could become an abuser.

It's all about choices.

Ray Rice made a terrible choice, and it's ruined his career.