I’m plump. Chubby. Ok, if I’m being honest, I’m obese. Too heavy for my height and frame. I’m pretty sure my triple chin is 15 pounds alone.
I’ve never been super slim but this is definitely my heaviest since being pregnant with the Bear. At least then I had an excuse, I was growing a little human. That’s when everyone loves a heavy woman. Maybe I can pretend to be pregnant….? I sure miss the pregnancy pants…
I’ve always hated clothes shopping. I used to joke with the sales attendants, asking if they had size ‘orca’. I don’t joke like that anymore. I simply pick my clothes and trudge to the change room, knowing that the clothes that I’ve picked will certainly look awful on my massive rolls.
It’s partly my fault. I still think I’m a size XL but the truth hit me today. I’m a 2XL. All I wanted was a new shirt to wear over my pants that hid my gut. I try on a couple of tops and they’re painfully tight to my chub. The attendant comes to check on me and through some tears I sigh and ask for the same shirts in a 2XL. How did it come to this?
I’m going to blame it partially on my Bipolar disorder, partly on menopause, partly on emotional eating and finally on my willpower, or lack thereof.
In the immortal words of Fat Bastard from the Austin Powers movies, ‘I can’t stop eating. I eat because I’m unhappy, and I’m unhappy because I eat.’ That sums me up pretty good.
Depression is tough and it puts you in a bad place physically and emotionally. You lose interest in doing things you loved before. You’re exhausted from the weight of your brain so you cease to exercise. You eat all of your feelings. You fall into bad habits. Junk food is tastier and easier than cooking a meal. You binge eat when you’re stressed, trying to gorge on the little bit of happiness a McCains cake provides. The. Whole. Cake. At. Once…
You’re angry at yourself that you lose your breath going up the stairs. Your knees ache. You don’t like looking at yourself in the mirror or in pictures. You nearly have a stroke when the Bear wants to go swimming. There’s nothing worse on this earth than shopping for bathing suits, except for the self loathing you feel for letting yourself get to this point.
When you do get the energy and willpower to work out, it’s brief. You don’t get instant results and that’s disappointing and discouraging. It’s easy to give up at that point. It’s hard to do it alone but at the same time you don’t want anyone to see you struggling to do sit-ups. That’s embarrassing.
So how do we make Michelle less fat? Where can we find that willpower? Maybe we put it out there in the world that we want a change, need a change. We don’t want all the health risks that come from being overweight, we’re already feeling it. It’s already creeping into our bloodwork.
Maybe I do a food journal. Except that I’ve tried that and I inevitably omit the junk that I eat and usually give up on it after a week or so. I could get up at 6am and workout. That sound absolutely horrid but kudos to the psychos that can do that. I’ve tried working out in the evenings but honestly after working all day, making an awful supper and walking the dog, I’m spent.
So many excuses.
Maybe I capture every effort here. I already feel defeated but that is partly due to the fact that it’s Sunday and I despise Sundays. It’s a waste of a day, you prep for Monday. How gross is that? Anyways, I digress…
Would people want to follow me on a health journey, capturing what it’s like trying to lose weight through the different phases of my bipolar cycles? It could make for some fun posts…
Let’s see how Monday goes.