Oh, September. Where Did You Go?

I can’t believe tomorrow is the first day of October.  On the first day of this year, I decided I was going to change my life.  It lasted for 20 and ½ days.  On the second half of the 21st day, I binged on Del Taco.  I had macho nachos with shredded beef, two chicken soft tacos, and a macho fry.  I ate all of it.  I spent an hour driving the same route, going home and then thinking longingly about food and driving back.  I wanted to be full.  I was so empty.

For twenty days, I had no idea what I was doing and stressed over the lack of progress.  I honestly had no idea how to start.  My biggest problem was that I had no idea how to ask for help.  I obsessed over the minute.  I did not think of the present but the person I was supposed to be.  And when I tried to trace the line to mark the distance, I was overwhelmed by the duration.  There were detours and hidden routes, shaky roads and closed off highways.  At the time, I had no intentions, just wants.  I was an escapist, and I wanted to leave my body.

There were so many possibilities.  However, I chose nothing at all.  The worst thing you can do for yourself isn’t to fail; it’s to do nothing.  For years, that was my decision, because I thought that was better than failure.  I considered that to be my reasoning for never beginning my life.  What we find to be our protection from the world tends to be what unravels us in the end.  We just have to let it.

There was no revelation experienced on June 13, 2011, just urgency.  No glimpse in the mirror or previous picture brought me to my knees.  I realized I was doing the best that I could with the life I had and realized that wasn’t enough.  I wanted the world, but I allowed myself dirt.  And while I could imagine my world being built around me, I forced myself to think that the dirt was enough.  If you crawl in it enough, you find yourself content with it.  And for years, I became it.  You can become anything you want.  I suppose I took that statement the wrong way.

And there are times when I feel the dirt beneath my fingers, cold and unfeeling, and I get drowsy thinking of the moments I was dead.  But then I stand up and remember that my life has to be built again.  And while I am no longer a part of the dirt, it’s where my roots are and where I learned to grow.  And while being a part of that life almost killed me, reflecting back on it keeps me alive.

Today is September 30, 2011, and I can’t believe tomorrow is the first day of October.


A Very Shirty Story.

Right now, I am wearing a shirt that was too tight for me three months ago.  It was one of the few shirts I kept, because I loved the colors too much.  Who knew that the brightness of peach would blend so well with a bland and milky brown?  I kept the shirt, because I knew it would look really good with my grey blazer.  Sure, it was extremely tight, but I could suck in my gut, smile, and pretend it wasn’t uncomfortable.  I was afraid of the shirt this morning.  There was so much to wear, but I was curious.  My measurements aren’t always accurate, and I wanted to just see what my progress looked and felt like.

Well, obviously it feels pretty good.  It fit well and was a little loose.  I could actually button up the top without my bra poking through in little circles.  It just fit.  At some point in the future, it won’t fit anymore.  It will be too loose and unflattering.  I will probably keep it anyway, put a belt around it and wear leggings and think, “This is where I’ve been.”I then tried on a pair of pants that were too tight at the waist.  They fit.  My armpit fat didn’t get suffocated with the blazer I so wanted to wear for job interviews earlier this year.  I didn’t have to suck in my gut when wearing my old work out shorts.  My camisoles look like dresses now.  Before, they flattered my figure, as big as it may be.  Now, it completely covers it.  And the day will come where nothing will fit, and I won’t be sad like I was before.  I remember my favorite pair of jeans unable to get at my thighs as if all of a sudden the weight appeared.

Yesterday as I walked out of the bathroom and saw that my pants were beginning to sag at the legs.  I then walked up to the mirror and noticed my face.  My complexion has cleared dramatically.  I look hydrated, and I glow.  I could see my chin and jaw.  My cheeks are starting to peak out.  My apple shape is less apple-y.  While I have a long way to go, I can’t help but notice that things are getting there.I have so much more to do and instead of inundating myself with a list of everything, I’m going to take them when I can.  I don’t mind relearning things over and over again, because it means that when it finally clicks, it will become second nature.

As I create the life that was truly meant to be my own, I don’t have any regrets of time wasted.  I’m right where I should be.  Had I done this sooner, I wouldn’t have understood what it all meant.  I wouldn’t have a reason and would have walked blind into this life and quickly walked out.  This life is difficult but the rewards mean so much more than taking it all for granted and wondering why I felt nothing from the instant relief from the pain I so constantly felt.

The Girl of 300.

In my last few weeks of being over 300 pounds, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.  I started here not allowing myself to set high standards.  That way if I decided this would be another on a list of failures, I could tuck myself away in a corner with little damage taken.

In my last few weeks of 300, I am counting all of the falls I’ve had.  There were many, but they were the things that motivated me the most.  Some crazy woman has taken over my body, told me not to smoke, go half naked to Bikram yoga, eat a shit ton of vegetables, and resist processed food.  That doesn’t sound like who I used to be at all.

The girl of 300 doesn’t mind that number at all.  She knows where she’s going and doesn’t mind fighting through every single pound, resting them gently, and burying any feeling of doubt with it.

The girl of 200 will learn to run, and she’ll learn it in the rain, in the wind, in the heat, and in the snow.  She will master her body, and her mind will follow.  She will finally get the standing head to knee pose and lock her knee.  She will know that food isn’t what conquers her.  It isn’t the sum of her parts.  The girl of 200 will be strong and fearless, a warrior against her former demons.  She will also look very good in boy shorts.

I have never met the girl of 100 but know that each step I make means I’m a little bit closer to that girl.  I’m absolutely sure that girl will learn how to fly.  Not away from her problems but back to them, so she can see what it means now that she conquered all of them.  And come on, she’s going to look fantastic in boy shorts.