I love these jeans, and they haven’t fit for 3 years. They are a nice cut, a dark fabric, a classic style that doesn’t go out of date (relief seeing as they’re 5 years old and hardly worn). The normal thing would be to jump around and celebrate this new size. Another goal ticked, another few pounds lost. Woohoo!
But depression and disordered eating, and constantly struggling to say nice things to and about myself have made it into a very mundane, slightly sad event.
Embracing Intuitive Eating again has most definitely helped to bring back some normality when the disordered eating creature reared its head again, and those depression gremlins decided to move back out of the attic into the living room. But each day is an exhausting struggle. Each meal time seems doubly hard, trying to focus on the mouthfuls, stay in the moment, avoid the distractions, and the wondering mind (and my depression gremlins particularly enjoy stripping me of the ability to concentrate). But I stick at it, the best I can. I know I am doing the best I can. But recently I’ve noticed guilt bubbling up over how much I’m eating, even when it’s mindful. And that isn’t the Intuitive Eating talking. It’s the disordered eating, the voices telling me I’m fat and shouldn’t eat at all. The words going over and over and over that I need to control myself, eat less.
It’s not a nice place to be. Here.
The greatest thing I read yesterday was
Depression is a liar
And it is sticking with me. All those negative little one liners my gremlins like to come out with “You’re such a phony” “You’re not depressed, just lazy” “No one cares about you” “You’ll always fail and never be fit for anything”, they are all lies. But I need to keep reminding myself.
I know the mass belief is that a fat girl losing weight has to be a good thing. But when it’s because of a negative state of mind, rather than self love, it is a very lonely, sad place to be.
So called weight loss experts may pride themselves on “telling it like it is” and telling Fat people they’re ugly and need to lose the lard. Hell, they’d probably call me a success story for losing.
But where is the real success here, when there is a cloud over every activity, and the joy has been sucked out of life?