[My apologies to Mr. Osbourne for jacking his song lyrics - but lately, my life can best be described as "my train has been derailed".]
This past week, I read a book by Ruby Gettinger. If you don't know who that is, she had a show on the Style network a few years ago, chronicling her weight loss journey. She started out over 700 lbs, and by the end of the book, at least, was down to 330. I want to share an excerpt from her book, first, and then I'll share what I'm thinking.
"When you're obese [Blogger's note: by obese, we are not referring to 10, 25, or even 100 lbs overweight. We are referring to people my size -400 lbs- and larger. The "super obese", if you will. Because while I don't want to pass judgment, and we are all fighting a fight, the battle is vastly different when you are 250 lbs and when you are nearing 500 lbs. That's just a fact. Now back to Ruby's words.] people treat you differently. They look down on you. I try to understand where they're coming from, I swear I do. I try not to judge them the way they judge me. I really do give people the benefit of the doubt. I try and imagine what it must be like to be them, looking at me. I know it has to be hard to see someone who is seven hundred pounds, or even four hundred pounds and understand. I can't sit anywhere I want; I do not move around fast. I am abnormal-looking in a society that doesn't have a lot of Rubys. I know when I walk into a room there has to be a little shock factor.
But I really wish people didn't make assumptions about me. They come to the conclusion that I am overindulging in foods. That I don't care about myself. That I'm slow or lazy or there's something wrong with me because I have let myself get into this situation. They can't grasp it. But once they get to know me, they are different; they see Ruby finally, and not her shell. I just want to tell them I know, I really know. I am just as confused as they are. I do not understand how I got here either. I wish they could walk my path with me, fit into my soul, and know where I've been. See how I've been trying to save myself for so long...But there is something I wish I could say to them before that. I just wish I could tell everyone 'When you look at a Ruby, please, please, please show some compassion and remind yourself that we all have our own Beast we battle. I just wear mine on the outside.'"
This sentence in particular had me sobbing: "See how I've been trying to save myself for so long." My whole life has been that particular fight. Trying to save myself. From abandonment by my dad. From anxiety when my mom became deathly ill not long after my dad left. From a world I felt I was better off shielding myself from. The pain of my sister's addiction and how it affected our family. To get my soul back after I was sexually assaulted at the age of 13. I responded to all of that by packing on more and more and more pounds, literally insulating myself from having to interact with (and get close to) other people. When I finally worked up the courage to join Weight Watchers the first time, I lost 80 pounds - and then the sexual assault happened. That sealed the deal for me. I quit WW and started putting the weight back on, slowly but surely year after year until I arrived where I am now - 450 pounds with two massive abdominal hernias that make it difficult or impossible for me to do what most would consider basic tasks. (If you don't know what hernias are/feel like - imagine having the biggest, heaviest bowling ball there is hanging unsupported off the front of you. That gives you a basic idea.)
Anyway. All of that to say that lately, I have given up even on the idea of saving myself. I've grown tired of the fight, tired of battling against something (my weight) that I do not honestly believe I can defeat. And I would love to say that this post is all about how motivated I am, how I'm not willing to just lay down and take it like a weak little bitch - but that wouldn't be entirely true. Or even mostly true. The *truth* is - I am overwhelmed. I am DROWNING in this, and I've forgotten how to swim back to shore. I wake up every day and just getting out of bed is a challenge - physically and mentally. Showering, dressing, going about a daily routine - all of it is difficult. And people tell me I am brave, that I am strong for getting up and doing it anyway - and while I appreciate their faith in me with all my heart - I also know that there is a fine line between bravery and stupidity. Is it really brave to go on doing what I'm doing? Or am I pathetic for not changing it?
Not to sound whiny, but my life (life. Ha. It's an existence, and not much of one at that) is difficult. I push through the challenges and do things anyway - I walk when my legs and back are killing me because I refuse to be in a wheelchair. I sit at the sink to do dishes, and sit on a rolling desk chair to sweep/scrub the floors because I can't stand that long, but the work must be done and I refuse to hire a housekeeper or caregiver. I shower every day despite how hard it is because I refuse to be THAT person who goes out in public smelling like trash day in August. I don't feel like I deserve accolades for that. I'm muddling through a situation that I should be working to fix. I'm ashamed of myself, of what I've become and what I continue to let myself be. I'm selling myself so short, cheating myself of the life I should have - and I wish I knew why I'm content to do that.
On the other hand: maybe I am a tiny bit brave, because I refuse to go to bed and stay there. I refuse to be house-bound. I *will* do my own shopping and I *will* go to the events I want to go to (despite my fear that there won't be a chair that I can fit in/sit on), and I will NOT lay down and wait to die. I just wish I didn't have this helpless feeling of not knowing where to begin to get better. I have tried diets, nutritionists, therapy, you name it, and none of it sinks in. I just go right back to doing what I've always done. But now it's gotten even more serious. My health is deteriorating. *I* am deteriorating. I'm going to die, sooner rather than later, and I know this. I will have a stroke, or a heart attack, or my body will merely give out from the cumulative effects of being this big for this long. I have no idea why that thought doesn't scare me straight - but it doesn't.
So I'll go on muddling, trying to figure things out, and praying that the day comes when I decide to save myself for real, from the one person who is trying the hardest to hurt me - ME.
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