Today Rudy made me stand on the scale and weigh myself.
I am officially 100lbs. overweight.
I’m not pregnant, and haven’t been pregnant in almost one and one-half years.
It was devastating, but not surprising. If that makes sense.
With each additional pound, I see my old self slip further away.
The path to my old self lies along a gravel highway, with immeasurable roadblocks and I’m running barefoot.
I once heard someone say that it isn’t surprising to see obesity running rampant among the poor; that it is not necessarily a sign of just plain over-eating, but rather a sheer inability to obtain wholesome foods in a cost-effective manner.
Rudy and I have had this plan for awhile now to turn to a vegetarian/vegan/whole foods diet. Oh how much we want to do it. But it is completely, 100% out of our reach. We are lucky if we can afford fresh tomatoes and iceberg lettuce to garnish our Kraft Mac ‘N’ Cheese. Empty calories and nutrition-lacking foods adorn our cupboards and fridge because they are what we can afford.
There is this fear that plagues us. Well, it plagues Rudy. That I am just going to drop dead because of my weight. Because I already had heart problems before the weight gain. Because I had diabetes three times with my girls. Because I have pre-diabetes now. Because it’s harder and harder for me to breathe.
I laugh and tell him he’s crazy. I’m not going anywhere. You can’t get rid of me that easily.
I have ten tons of workout videos that I want to power through and be a champion, but it never happens. My shoes make my feet go painfully numb in minutes, so I do it barefoot. But then I broke some toes, which makes going barefoot a trial in getting my toes amputated. So I do nothing.
I do nothing.
Rudy yells at me when it comes to food, because I don’t eat. Or I try not to, until dinner at least. Let my body eat itself, my motto flies high on the flag pole. Apparently it doesn’t really help, though, because my body is eating my muscles instead, and then when I eat the crap food we have, I just add more fat. Weaker and fatter.
So I get angry and binge eat loads of candy, pop, chips…anything I can get my hands on. I crave it. I need it.
It makes me feel so much better and so much worse, all at the same time.
What do you do? To fight all the things that are fighting against me? Fighting against myself?
After getting on the scale today, I AM scared. I don’t want to die. Not yet. Not this way.