There are some days when I manage to get by relatively peacefully in terms of disturbing, distracting thoughts. Today is not one of those days.
I can ignore it and ignore it and ignore it, but the fact is, I am really unhappy with my body right now. It makes me feel physically sick to look in a mirror. If I didn’t have to go to work, I probably would never leave my house, because I am so mortified. I never really looked that small, and now there is just no way for me to escape the fact that I have become exactly what I spent ten years clawing and kicking and screaming to avoid: I am fat.
I went to yoga yesterday for the first time in years. I like yoga. I did enjoy it. But there was an underlying panic in the back of my mind the entire time because I was wearing leggings, in front of other people, and nobody deserves to be subjected to the horrors that are my thighs.
The worst part of this is that it is all self-inflicted. Yes, I can “blame” my RDs for “making” me gain weight, but the fact is that nobody can make me do anything. This is all my own doing, so if I’m looking to cast blame on anyone for it, I should look squarely in the mirror. Though, as previously mentioned, I’m kind of having issues in that department right now…
The only reason I did any of this is because I want to run again. And when I say “run,” I don’t mean “C25K,” when I am not even running long enough to stop focusing on the fact that I am carrying a disgusting, rapidly increasing mass. I mean that I would give my eyeteeth to have been able to do the Jerusalem Marathon this year, or even the half. I mean that I want to be able to roll out of bed in the morning, run six miles, and have it be my easy run of the week. I mean that I want to run without being afraid that something will break on me. I mean that I wish I could at least have the chance of being more than just mediocre at something, and not have it snatched out from right under my nose.
I haven’t gotten any of these things. Thus far, all I’ve gotten is … fat. And while I don’t know that I can say I hate myself because I am fat, per se, what I can say is that I hate myself because I knew it was happening, I watched it happening, I am still watching it happen, and I’m not doing a damn thing to stop it.