Time Marches On

8 02 2013

I just realized I’ve struggled with an eating disorder for nigh on 6 years. This fact stunned me and stopped my brain from spinning for an entire 30 seconds, a huge feat when you’re as ADHD as I am. That’s 6 years that I’ve hated myself, 6 years in which nothing I’ve done was good enough, 6 years I’ve continuously gained and lost weight, 6 years of feeling tired and drained, 6 years of strife and conflict, 6 years of constant struggle.

And yet, I sit here now, fighting the same fight I always seem to be fighting. Right now, though, it’s harder than ever because I am genuinely overweight and I hate every bloody second of it. There’s no one to blame but myself for the overeating that led me here, although I honestly think the severe episode of depression I survived late last year and the antidepressants strongly contributed, I’m the one who kept eating.

I can’t stand to see myself in the mirror, can’t stand to have anyone touch me or really even see me, try to shower as quickly as possible so I can get dressed again and struggle every minute of every day to just eat, and eat enough. If numbers bother you or trigger you, stop reading here.

On January 1st of this year, I weighed 205 pounds. That’s the most I’ve weighed since I was 16 years old. When I was 16, I had a BMI of 42. While I’m nowhere near that big now, I feel that big and larger.

Now, today, I weigh 182.5 pounds. I’ve been exercising a lot and eating VERY clean and minimally processed foods. I can’t tell I’ve lost weight. I’m the same bloody size, with the same bloody fat and the same bloody clothes fit the same bloody way. It’s irritating. I’m literally trying to work my butt off (mostly) the healthy way and I don’t see anything happening.

Some days I burn almost as many calories as I eat. Some days I only burn 300. There’s been this recent development that I’ve NEVER struggled with: for whatever reason, and I don’t know how or where my brain picked up this idea, I can only eat if I exercise. Exercise outside of a gym doesn’t count.

I hate exercising. I hate sweating. I hate running. I hate feeling tired. I can’t stand anything about it.

And yet, here I am, undertaking hour and hour-and-a-half long workouts and loathing pretty much every minute of it. I’ve been to the gym every day for the past 9 days.

I’ve been told to ease off a bit, so I have — I’ve only been exercising for 45 minutes to an hour, and at a lower intensity.

My anxiety has skyrocketed. I’m not doing the routine, the niche, I’d settled into, and having limitations put on my routine/exercises of choice is severely cramping my style. I NEVER thought I’d feel that way. I’ve always been the one to look for any reason not to exercise, period, even if that reason was, “No, sorry, I have to sit on my balcony and watch grass grow tonight.”

As much as I hate feeling the way I do, I can’t stop it — I truly am “fat” now. I NEED to exercise. It’s healthy.

And as I continue to battle myself and struggle to get healthy, time continues to march on . . . . .

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