A 1.7kg (3.7lb) loss in my first week, just by eating sensibly and drinking all my water?
I'll take that.
It MAY have been influenced by the infected tooth which ensured that I was taking little nibbles of food and eating very slowly. But the vomiting definitely didn't play a part because I hadn't eaten at all that day anyway. And despite the anti-nausea tablets not kicking in until around 5.30pm that night, I still managed to eat over my points.
But I'm sorry, going through that and NOT having ice cream with caramel sauce is surely breaking a Geneva convention somewhere. One has to be forgiving to one's self.
Of course, this means that I'm not seriously considering real exercise until after the root canal tomorrow and after any other dental work that is looming on the horizon (I'm expecting to end up with a crown once they've cleaned the tooth out).
I may do a mild yoga work out or two using my copy of this and I'll scour the magnificent Stumptuous for that old dumbbells workout she had. That was an absolute corker and toned me up like nothing else.
The tooth has been a convenient distraction from me thinking about why I eat. However, despite being deeply distressed by pain, the worst I managed was 6 points worth of low fat ice cream and caramel topping.
It's scarcely the packets of corn chips, cookies and chocolate of my heyday. Not that I can manage anything particularly crunchy yet, but you get the picture.
It gives me a quiet sort of hope that I don't have to spiral into binge eating the moment things go pear-shaped.
The fact that I stayed pretty much on track all week and didn't feel particularly physically hungry was great.
I felt emotionally hungry, but it was at that point I could ask myself what the real problem was and nurse that need, rather than just eat.
The most important thing seems to be that I've been able to distinguish the two in my head. Both emotional and physical hunger manifest themselves as a physical sensation for me. Physical hunger is more of a gnawing in my belly, while emotional hunger feels more like a whirlpool spinning around just around my diaphragm. It's a form of anxiety, but it's not a physical need for nutrition.
It's a physical need for comfort and reassurance of another sort. Now, it's easy to pack carrot sticks in your desk to satisfy the physical hunger, but what is the emotional equivalent of carrot sticks?
It's one thing to say that chocolate won't give you a shoulder to cry on, and goodness knows I've said it in the past, but that doesn't mean you have to go cold turkey. I need an emotional nicotine patch.
In the past I have bought chocolate to reassure myself that I was worthy and good and deserving of nice things. Now I need to find a new way of soothing that need. Something quick, effective and doesn't look too freakish if I'm in the office or out in public.
Anyone got any ideas?
Edit: As I edited my weightloss tally on the home page, I realised I had just tipped back over the halfway point. I haven't even thought about my rewards for this round, but I'll hold off celebrating until I see the numbers next week.
Heh.
I bet you weren't expecting a title like that.
But as every pop-psychologist worth their syndication rights would say, we only do these things to ourselves because we get some sort of benefit from it, however twisted that benefit may be.
I like being fat because it's easier to blame everything on my weight than it is to take responsibility and face up to my emotions.
You know the sort of thinking I mean.
"Oh, I'd be so much more [insert desired state here] if only I wasn't so fat!"
"Everything would be so much [insert desired state here] if I could just lose weight!"
I'm here to tell you, I lost a lot of weight and nothing changed. Well, it was easier to buy clothes, but I was still me with all my emotional denial in an albeit slimmer body.
Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting miracles when I got slimmer, but what I hadn't counted on is how much I was using my fat as literal insulation from the world around me. It was protecting me from having to take responsibility for my feelings.
When I lost weight, that protection was gone.
I was literally naked in the world.
And I couldn't cope.
Being fat stopped me from having to feel things too much. I could suppress my feelings with food and deny all the pain and heartache that came with them. I shovelled packets of biscuits, chocolate, chips, take aways, you name it, down my throat so that I didn't have to feel.
Anxiety? Nothing a packet of Shortbread Creams can't fix!
Sadness? Ooooh, seafood pizza with that lovely oily garlic sauce will take care of that pesky emotion!
Fear? Doritos coming to the rescue!
Fat was just the price I had to pay for denying it all. And, for a little while at least, it was worth it.
Being slim was nice and all, but not if it meant I had to feel. Nothing tastes as good as being slim feels? BULLSHIT.
These days, I totally understand addicts and people who self harm. Anything, anything at all to stop the hurt. Physical hurt? That's a piece of cake (literally). Emotional hurt? Please, bring on the physical pain. That I can cope with.
But now I've come to a point where the fat and the food isn't helping so much anymore (not that it really did anyway). I've come to a place where I'm not afraid of hurting anymore.
Hurting is OK.
We all do it.
And it ends.
That is what I was most afraid of. If I didn't squash it down, it would just keep flowing through me, a never-ending river of emotional pain.
Hurt ends. And we survive. It's OK to be sad. It's OK to be afraid. I don't need to react angrily to it all and cram food into my face. I can just be with it and feel it and ask the people around me to support me while it's happening.
I don't need to be alone, sheltered from the world in my fat suit.
I'm still learning this. I know there will be days where I will self-medicate with food. It's an old coping mechanism for me and to think that I can abandon it completely is foolishness. But I'm getting better at recognising what I'm doing and, instead of denying it all, digging to the root of my feelings, even as I'm scoffing chocolate.
Who knows, maybe I'll even stop before I finish the whole bar.
Irony is a mailout from Weight Watchers arriving in my letter box a day after I start blogging here again. But the good news is that this is day two of sensible eating and water consumption. Go me!
Happy New Year.
I'm back.
And this really is the hardest blog entry I've ever had to write.
Wow. Where to begin?
Well, as my previous entry, 7 months ago, hinted at, I had come to a realisation. A big, scary realisation.
For me, weight loss has very little to do with diet and exercise.
It's literally all in my head.
These last few months have been among the darkest I've ever experienced. I have had depression more profound than I realised was possible. I lost myself for a while there and it was easier to just disappear off the face of the earth than it was for me to remain connected.
Of course, in retrospect, that was the worst thing I could have done, but it was the only thing I could do at the time and I need to respect that.
I also need to respect what I did in those intervening months. As my therapist kindly pointed out to me, people going through what I did often turn to drugs, alcohol or self harm. At least I was only eating.
The good news is that therapy is proceeding well, I'm living the life of the chemically enhanced to help that, and I'm finally ready to start tackling the real reasons that I've gained weight. The real reason my 'friend' in the previous entry is doing the things that she's doing. The real reason I'm doing these things to myself.
I don't know if I'll be doing Weight Watcher's again. While the weekly discipline of the weigh-in was motivating in a way, I don't know if I'm ready to face that again yet. There's a lot of shame and self-hatred swimming around right now, and a well meaning comment from a weigh-in person could be enough to send me spiralling again.
Right now, it's just baby steps. This week is about water and remembering that a portion is not a steak the size of a toddler. That's all. No exercise unless I'm feeling particularly inspired. No salads, no low fat this or that. Just portion control and water.
And if I fuck up, that's OK. Just recognise that I did and move on.
I've missed you all. Viscerally. And I'm glad to be back. But I'm bruised and fragile and I'm not at all sure how this is going to pan out. I've gained half of what I originally lost and that hurts. My winter wardrobe is completely beyond my reach at the moment. My underwear no longer fits and the summer heat is so much more ghastly with an extra 15kg (33lb) on board.
I really don't like where I am physically right now, but that can't be my inspiration. I need to learn to love myself no matter what size I am and respect myself enough to take care of this body I inhabit. That's what will stabilise my weight. Not diets. Not exercise.
Self respect.
That is my key to being a healthy weight.
Although fat-free, anti-depressant corn chips would help too.