I found out yesterday that I weigh way too much. I found out this morning that I actually do weigh what the scale said at the doctor, because I checked on my own scale at home (for the first time in one month), stripped of every last ounce of self-esteem. And then I melted-down. I am still melting.
This proves that when I let things be, and stop worrying so much about what I am putting in my body and how much exercise I am doing, I gain horrific amounts of weight. There is so much proof. I wasn’t looking for it, either, it happened upon me and immediately settled on my shoulders. All of my clothes being tighter was not my imagination. The sinking feeling I had all along was validated. I was smacked in the face with a three-digit-number.
As much as the free bird in me wants to keep repeating; tomorrow is a new day, and; you are not a number, that is exhausting when it feels like your biggest fear is coming true and those phrases are responsible for allowing too much freedom and therefore for that fear to exist.
Do the next right thing, do the next right thing. But my head is screaming fuck you, positive soothsayer! I run 20 laps around the track hoping to quell the fight that escalated throughout the day. It doesn’t work. I can feel every inch of my shorts, which used to be loose. I can feel my t-shirt sleeves on my arms, and I am afraid to look down and see a protruding stomach. I am not acceptable. I am officially overweight. I have officially gone overboard in the opposite direction. I never, ever, thought I would weigh this much, ever.