I am overweight. Grossly so. Have been all my life. Hate it, but have
accepted it about myself with little to no (emphasis on the no) hope of
ever changing. I look at members of my family, mom's side and dad's,
and know for a fact that I did this to myself and did not HAVE to end up
like this. Yet here I am.
Diets, fasting, cleansing, yoga, exercise... Name it, I've tried it. Ad nauseam. There is nothing that works. For me.
I
understand that others have tear-jerking success stories with fad diets
or workout programs and I by no means wish to demean their hard work,
dedication, and efforts. More power to them. They are far better people
than I. As anyone can plainly see.
I know the term
'vicious cycle' gets thrown around a lot. Trying to explain away the
lack of progress or come up with a reason for failure. But that's truly
what it feels like most days. I don't leave the house unless it's to go
to class. I avoid social interaction of any kind at all times. I sleep
12-16 hours a day and wake up tired and ready to call it quits. I've
lied to my friends: said I was busy and couldn't meet them or go out
with them to have fun. I've lied to myself: telling myself 'I'll do it
tomorrow' and 'I'm really gonna try this time.' The truth of the matter
is I just can't. I can't go out. I can't meet/talk to people. I can't
even look at myself in the mirror anymore.
"So just
lose weight!" people might say to me. Well, I can't seem to do that
either. I can't afford health food or fancy diet programs (which have
never worked for me anyway). I can't even afford a gym membership
anymore (a lack of job and will-power, plus a crippling fear of stepping
out your front door will do that). And even when I was a member of a
gym, it had to be a 24-hour gym and I would always go when no one else
was around to avoid being seen by anyone. I don't have equipment at home
(because, as previously stated, no job which means at the ripe old age
of 27 I still live with my parents and there's no room).
I
gave up. I gave up because without income, I've already had to put my
parents in the awkward position they sit in now. They pay for my phone
bill, my car, my storage shed, they clothe me, feed me, pay for school
and books, and I take up space in their house. Even when I'm at school I
stay with my sister and her husband who are expecting a baby and in no
way need me skulking around their home.
Why don't I see
someone about it? Well, there's a problem there, too. I've seen
therapists who spout out happy-go-lucky slogans meant to make the world a
brighter place, but all they did was take away money I didn't have and
leave me feeling even more left out because my brain just didn't seem to
understand why their methods weren't working. I've been on and off
medications of all kinds: for depression, anxiety, insomnia,
migraines... but other than costing more and more money every bottle
(sensing a pattern?) all they did was make me feel like it wasn't me in
my own skin anymore. Some days were good. Some days were okay. Some days
felt like I wasn't even there. The anti-depressants made me frantic
(which is fun because I already suffer from a fun form of OCD where I
have unwanted violent thoughts and bouts of restless arranging) and the
anti-anxiety pills made me lethargic and nothing could help me fall
asleep at night. So I gave that up, too.
So like I said: vicious cycle.
I'm
by no means suicidal. This is not my 'Goodbye Cruel World' letter. But I
do know that I am killing myself. I just don't know how to stop.
Eventually it will catch up to me. And to tell the truth, I don't know
if I'm trying to stop it or help it along anymore. I don't know what I'm
doing.
I'm not delusional either. I know exactly what
needs to get done for me to get myself up and lose weight, take care of
myself, and get on with the rest of my life (if I'll have one). I need
someone to push me. Just one person. But it can't be anyone I know. I
need someone to basically dictate my life and make the choices for me,
because I clearly am not capable of making them for myself and I don't
think I ever have been. It's going to take someone telling me when to
get up, what to eat, what to do, how to act, and when to sleep. I know
that this is what I need and I have accepted that about myself. The
problem is trying to express that to others. How can I tell my friends
who want nothing but to help me when I need it, that they can't be what I
need? Not only that, but if I were to ever find what I need, that they
couldn't help or even talk to me about it?
I would
rather disappear for a whole year with no contact with anyone I know
than have them looking at me while I try just in case I fail. That look
of pity (hell, even the encouraging looks sometimes) would pierce
through me and my brain will have already given up before I even start. I
want change to happen, but I don't want people to see it. But that's not possible, is it?
Ah, there's the rub.
And
what am I going to do when my nephew is born? I have vivid images run
through my head constantly of dropping him, squeezing him too hard,
smothering him, hitting him, drowning him, scalding him... And I can't
make the images stop (thanks OCD). How am I supposed to be an aunt when I
can't even look at babies without cringing in fear that I might hurt
them?
I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do
and I don't know who to ask, or where to go, or if there's even anything
that can be done. Because what I'm doing right now isn't living. It
isn't even surviving.
I didn't write this to get
sympathy or to freak anyone out and I hope that if anyone does read
this, you won't think less of me because of it. I mainly did it because
after staring at a blank screen with tears running down my face, I
needed to get it down. Part of me hopes that getting it out of my brain
through my fingers might magically make it go away, at least for a
little while.
"Things'll look better in the morning."
Probably not. But it's a nice thought.
