I am having a hard time with myself right now. I am frustrated with the way my body looks and the way I feel about it. Since January, I’ve been going through spurts of exercising 6 times a week, watching what I eat, etc., with a week or two every few weeks where it’s just not happening for one reason or another and my weight is just yo-yoing up and down 7 or 8 pounds and I’m not making any real progress.
Now, I’m at the point where even my fat pants are tight and I just feel completely hopeless about beating this. I hate this two yearish cycle where I lose all this weight, then let it all slowly creep back on again. Fifty times a day I think about how much I hate how I feel in my clothes and how my body looks in them-and especially how it looks naked.
Since the last down cycle, I’ve wanted to have a tummy tuck and a breast lift-even at close to my target weight there was still a flap of skin and fat on my tummy from the yo-yo and the baby weight gain that just wasn’t going anywhere. And no amount of dieting was going to put my boobs back where they started. I’m a full C, almost a D and would like to wear a halter style bathing suit without it looking like I have two national geographic worthy deflated balloons pancaked to my chest.
But, at the point I had made the decision that surgery was actually something I was vain enough to be willing to invest the money and pain into, my weight was already starting to creep back up. So I put it off until I could get back to where I wanted to be prior to having the surgery. Fast forward 2+ years later and here we are again. Plus feeling like nothing I did last time is making a difference and it’s 10 times harder to move the needle an inch.
So I went ahead and scheduled the surgery for May with the thought that having a date on the calendar would spur me to get down to where I wanted to be. And then it was May and surprise, no weight lost. And then a bunch of other shit was going on with work travel and I messed up my foot and etc., and I ended up postponing the surgery again until August.
So here I am again still desperately hating where I am and in turn hating life and at a loss at what more I can do to fix it. Besides maybe never eating again? If they didn’t make me so crazy and/or paranoid that my heart was going to explode and kill me, I’d be completely willing to try some gimmicky pills or whatever because I don’t really care anymore if it’s a shortcut or whatever, I just want to stop feeling like this. I actually WANT to look sickly and bad if it meant I was skinny. I’m just so frustrated and defeated and hopeless. Like I don’t want to be fighting this for the rest of my life.
UGH and then I feel guilty for even feeling like this because, totally a first world problem, right? Right now, people are dealing with far larger health battles and fears and yet I still can’t stop this tidal wave of self loathing from crashing over my head. #dramaqueen