March 10, 2009
I’ve been feeling a bit down lately. I really have no reason to, but here I am all mopey. Is it possible to develop post-partum depression seven months after giving birth? No, no, I don’t think that’s what it is. I know what it is.
The problem is that I have zero self-confidence these days. Nada. I’m pretty used to this feeling, but for reasons that I’m getting to (eventually) it is worse than usual.
When I was younger, I was ridiculously skinny. I weighed 110 pounds and I wore a juniors size 5 jeans. Loosely. I was also a drama queen, but that’s neither here nor there.
Then I went to college and became another weighty college statistic. I gained a few pounds here and a few pounds there. I also made my male friends put on my dresses and then grabbed their man-boobs, but also, neither here nor there.
Next thing I knew I was getting married. My wedding day came and went and I looked back at the pictures and my first thought was that I hated them. I was so huge. How could I have gotten married when I looked so awful?
I wish I could say that my disgust with my wedding pictures was enough to convince me I needed to change my lifestyle, but, nope. It wasn’t. I just kept gaining more weight. Slowly enough that I didn’t really notice it until once again, in pictures, I couldn’t stand how I looked.
I know that this entry doesn’t require pictures, but maybe I need to shame myself into action. Nothing else seems to work. I was given a half-assed diagnosis of diabetes in 2004 and still I ate oodles of fast food, baked goods and carbs carbs, glorious carbs.
The first time that I began to take this weight/healthy eating/exercise thing seriously was when I found out that I was pregnant. This time it wasn’t just about me. It was about my baby.
I blossomed during my pregnancy. I loved being pregnant. I felt great, I think that I looked great and despite being pregnant, I was even LOSING weight. I gained two pounds throughout my entire pregnancy and walked out of the hospital twenty pounds lighter than when I found out that I was pregnant. I felt fantastic.
So what happened? Why wouldn’t I want to hang onto that amazing feeling? All I know is that I didn’t maintain myself. I’ve gained back ten of those lost twenty pounds. I feel miserable. I feel ugly. I feel disgusting. Worse even than all of that is that I officially have type 2 diabetes. I’ve known since January and I just… hate it. I hate that I couldn’t keep my weight down and the diagnosis from being official.
In just under two months I’m leaving for Mexico for a good friend’s wedding. It will be the first vacation that my husband and I have ever taken in six years of marriage. i wish I could get more amped for the trip. I wish that I was more excited. Unfortunately, all I can think of is my body and how much I am dreading the beaches and the pools and the horrors of bathing suits.
I’m lumpy. I have stretch marks that make me look like I’ve been mauled by a wild animal. I have bruises and marks on my thighs from something called Hydronitus Supportiva. My breasts are saggy and misshapen from nursing my daughter.
(I even just tried to find a picture to put here of me recently, but I don’t keep any that show really any part of my body, so, nothing to share.)
I don’t like going out. I don’t like having to find clothes that fit. I’m not happy.
So why can’t I do anything about it? Why won’t I stop eating the crap that I eat? Why won’t I get off of my ass and get into the gym a few days a week?
I’m so frustrated and disappointed with myself. Weak. Weak. Weak.
I want this girl back.