For as long as I can remember, I have been concerned with my weight. It is something that is constantly on my mind. Something that never leaves it. I’m always worrying about how many calories/carbs/whatever the hell else is in the food that I put in my mouth. I worry about having enough time to work out, and if I don’t, I freak out about it, and figure out how I can make it up.
To be honest, this is what has become normal for me. My weight consumes so many of my thoughts. It is always there. I usually allow myself a couple of cheat days during the week, and even when I “allow” these, I feel bad about them.
(this was probably close to my heaviest in high school)
I guess some back story on why I worry about it sooooo much would help. I was heavy in high school. I did not have dates; I did not have boys who paid attention to me; I had one guy call me a dog. So you can imagine what that does to the psyche of a sixteen year old girl. I finally found some comfort when I started my job at the movie theater, and seemed to be surrounded by people who were like me. Those people that I worked with at the movie theater will never know how much they did to help me during that horrible time. I even had a boy (a real live one!) that worked there with me ask me out. A cute one! His name was Andrew, and he made me feel awesome about myself. He didn’t go to my school, so he didn’t know a lot about that person, because at the movie theater, I could be who I was.
As with most high school relationships, that one didn’t go very far, and a far prettier girl was interested in ole Andrew, so that was that.
Fast forward to senior year in high school. Nerd girl over here was still working at the movie theater, but was about to go to college. About to head to Auburn! I was so excited about it. This was when I knew that I had to do something to try to get rid of the weight. It had to go. I could not go to college the way I looked. So I worked out. A lot. I didn’t eat. I took diet pills. It was awful, y’all. I gave myself back problems from the working out and bloody noses from the diet pills.
I lost the weight.
I didn’t do it healthily. At all.
The problem continued into college. I worked out twice a day — I rarely ate anything that had a carb in it. I was obsessed (probably an understatement) with losing weight. I wanted to be one of those pretty Auburn girls, damn it. And I was determined.
I’m 5’8″. My lowest weight was 128 pounds. I saw pictures. I looked like a damn skeleton. I looked sick. It was a picture from a sorority formal. I had worked like a crazy person to get into that size 6 pink dress that I remember begging my mom for the money for. But I looked like death.
After seeing that picture, I decided to let up. I worked out once a day, started eating more and got myself up to a healthy weight. Where I’ve pretty much stayed.
I could sit here and blame it on the media or whatever showing all the models and pretty girls, but I won’t. I blame it on myself. It all comes from my head telling myself that I’m not good enough, or I’m not skinny enough. I still weigh myself every morning, angry if I gain a pound. And it’s insane. I know that it is, but I still do it. I’m so afraid to go back into that place of where I was in high school, where I was judged so harshly on my weight.
I am working on it. I am trying my hardest. I don’t cancel plans just because they involve beer or a burger or margaritas and cheese dip. I work out five days a week, and I’m ok with that. I know that this was a pretty personal post, but honestly that’s what I started this for.
I’m hoping to one day be cured of this — to just be able to live a healthy life and not worry about it. It will take a lot of work, but I think I’m up for the challenge.