So, this thing has a name–viral sinus infection. There isn’t much to do for it other than what I’ve been doing. Just suffer and drink lots of liquids.

Now I want to talk about something hard and weird. Since I last went to the doctor, I’ve lost twenty pounds. Before that, I lost twelve. So, since the Butcher moved out, but also since I’ve got my meds straight, I’ve lost thirty two pounds.

My whole life I have tried so hard to lose weight. I have starved myself. I have exercised like a fiend. I have tried this crazy thing and that crazy thing. I have been called a liar by doctors. I have had symptoms of serious conditions ignored because the “obvious” solution was that I needed to lose weight.

I have loathed my body. I have felt utterly unlovable and unworthy of love because this is my body. I have felt crazy because all the “just”s people say–just eat less, just exercise more, it’s just physics, etc.–never worked for me. And when I said they didn’t work for me, the fault was mine. I was doing something wrong or lying.

I wouldn’t say I’ve ever had an eating disorder, but I’ve had very disordered eating over the course of my life. And it was only when I was like “okay, fuck it. I just can’t hate myself any more. I can’t punish myself all the time. I just don’t have the energy for it.” that I started eating in less fucked-up ways and finding doctors who would, even as they nagged about the weight, would also take my symptoms seriously.

Here’s the thing. I’m not doing anything. I’m not trying to lose weight. I don’t walk Sonnyboy more or farther than I walked Mrs. Wigglebottom. I eat a little differently than I did when the Butcher lived here, but I eat what I want–cookies regularly included.

Okay, here’s the thing that concerns me. Last night, before dinner, I had the thought, “Well, if I’ve done this well without trying, what would happen if I skipped dinner?”

And I hate every part of that. I haven’t “done” anything. “Well” is a shitty word there, like being thinner is intrinsically better than being fatter. And, obviously, “what would happen if I skipped dinner?” is not healthy.

Thankfully, I’m on drugs, so my brain forms destructive thoughts more slowly which gives me an opportunity to head them off at the pass.

But my body is just doing a new weird thing that, frankly, goes with all the old weird things it’s done in the past. I’m not causing this. I’m going to try very hard to not put a lot of faith in it, because it seems to me very unlikely that I’m going to continue to lose weight or not find myself back at my normal weight in the future.

And I feel weird about it because I don’t have some great success story. I haven’t done anything. My body is just doing a thing.

The thing that concerns me is how easily I am ready to accept suffering if I think it will work.

Also, just as a last stupid thing, while we’re playing True Confessions on the Internet, I’m still really fucking fat. My clothes all fit the same. I still look exactly the same. All this vanity and self-undermining bullshit literally over a number.

I hate it.

5 thoughts on “Doctor

  1. Love this amazing post!!
    I do not know you, but I feel your energy and the weight you are losing…is the weight of hating your vessel, and denying your acceptance of happy NOT being a way to look but a way to BE. You said it yourself…”The thing that concerns me is how easily I am ready to accept suffering if I think it will work.” You have realized your acceptance HAS been conditional…now you are reaching where its not about weight its about carrying the weight..and how easily you can come to know…its being accepting of where you are right now.
    And I am sorry, but you are wrong…YOU DO have a success story…changing the pattern of your thoughts about yourself and your vessel, is a huge big wonderful success. Our thoughts are extremely powerful.
    I hope you do not mind my comment, but this is too amazing to be a silent visitor.
    Congratulations for embracing unconditional acceptance of yourself. Create an amazing adventure within your day..Blessings Abundant

  2. It sounds like your proper meds are getting your body to its proper set point for weight. Which is a cool thing, as an indication that the meds are getting your body to work right. With luck, you will start feeling (physically) better in your body. Not because of a number, but because it’s working more the way it ought to. Yay meds!

  3. I know exactly what you mean; I have had to learn to untangle healthy (mental and physical) behavior from “whatever my body is doing” because one doesn’t always connect to the other. I have to go with “I feel stronger and better” as my metric because whatever size I’m wearing seems almost unrelated to that. Maybe it’s hormones, or pollution, or weird gut biomes from years of processed foods, or genes. I have no idea. Doctors who give me lists of healthy “low fat” foods absolutely have no idea. I just keep telling myself “do what makes you feel better and stronger” and then I wear whatever fits me right now. And yeah, disordered eating is a signal that I’m extra-depressed or tense, and I need to not freak out about whatever I just ate to feel better, but maybe try other kinds of self-care instead. I still hate pictures of myself, though.

  4. All this over a number…good heavens yes.

    When I was a teen, a doctor told me not to gain any more weight and gave me a food plan. I was thin. Super-tiny waist. The weight I was gaining was dance muscle in my legs and hips. The bitch literally ordered me to stop gaining muscle and gave me one hell of a complex over it.

    I don’t know why doctors are so utterly evil about weight in women, but they are.

  5. We are the sort of women that babies (of all ages) want to curl up on and rest and recover. We are the strong sort of women that work and walk and do. The number is irrelevant to the ability.

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