Suddenly I no longer feel like I belong here. I feel like I don’t truly fit in, with any one crowd. I feel foreign. It’s the same feeling I usually get upon moving somewhere new, only when that happens it is all under the pretense of a big adventure and new opportunities. This feels like things are ending and I am left behind without the new possibilities and sense of adventure that are supposed to come with change.
It’s kind of like an impending sense of doom.
Yesterday I decided to take a step out of doom-land for a quick minute. The day before, I barely ate, and went running, and I’ve lost 4 pounds in about 10 days. The 4 pounds I’m not worried about at all. I honestly think I need to lose more, I’m just unbelievably uncomfortable. But that’s not the point. The point is that barely eating and obsessively running and stepping on the scale 5 times a day isn’t helping anything. It’s not going to make anyone stay here. It’s not going to make work better. It’s not going to keep my husband out of harms way. It’s not going to make people like me. It’s not even going to magically keep me from totally melting down, like I hope it will. I know this because I have already been down this road so many time before. Even when I have lost the weight I originally thought I needed to lose, I want to lose more and more and more. Sure, I have spent all that time not caring about anything else except the ultimate, ever-changing weight goal therefore not having to be sad or angry at whatever is really going on. Instead I’m sad and angry at myself for eating too much and not exercising enough. In the very end, I am exactly the opposite of what I’m fending off: lonely.
So I decided the following just for the day:
1. Go running, but don’t wear your watch.
2. Don’t step on the scale.
3. Eat something for dinner that has been banned.
I did all three. And this is what happened:
1. I ran with a friend and enjoyed it.
2. I really wanted to step on the scale.
3. I bought and made macaroni cheese and had oreos for dessert. I haven’t had either in at LEAST a year.
A few hours later I was pretty unsure about my dinner choices, but I let it go. Actually I was so proud of this macaroni and cheese ordeal that I wanted to tell someone, but that is annoying and hardly anyone would get why that is something to be proud of. Husband was a little confused, but fully embraced having oreos in the house.
I don’t even love oreos, it’s just one of those things if you don’t allow yourself to have, eventually you’ll want them.
It is impossible for me to engage in any sort of disordered eating behavior and be happy. Completely out-of-this-world impossible.
I just can’t let them go right now. I’m so attached and scared that if I let them all go I will be the next person in the Guinness Book of World Records for being the heaviest person alive. Most of what I am doing right now isn’t necessarily unhealthy. However, when my whole world is all-or-nothing and black-or-white, it is really challenging to be cognizant of where the line of danger is.
Especially with running. Running is my religion. It’s the only hobby I can ever come up with when I’m asked that stupid “what do you for fun?” question. There isn’t anything that matches going on a 8- or 10-mile run and finally being at some sort of peace. I need running like a fish needs water. But it gets so complicated when I start using it as punishment. Is it possible for me to run 40 miles in a week and for it to not be, at least a little bit, about how many calories I burned? Or for it at some time during the week used as a cop out (I can’t eat that, I have to run later. I can only eat that if I run extra tomorrow).
Am I just going to stay here in healthy-but-unhealthy land until I figure all this out???? This takes a lot of fucking work.