“You’re fat, you’re weak, and on top of that you can’t do a damn thing right”. Nice, right? that’s the little voice – the recording if you will that plays in my head when I am having a bad day. When my bad day turns into a bad week, my little voice sings: “Don’t you have any strength? What’s wrong with you?” When my bad week turns into a bad few weeks turns into a bad month it screams: “You’re worthless, you don’t deserve any happiness, why try to aim for good health when you’ll fail anyway?” When I hear these voices as they whisper sweet destructive nothings in my ears I picture my alter ego as a snotty little brat with pig tails wagging a finger at me, ya know the one, that bitchy little know-it-all that we all wanted to ram with our fist in elementary school.
The minute the Feel Great Weight Program ended the pigtailed little bitch started singing her favorite self-loathing-you’re-not-worthy tune. Instead of being empowered by my success I went to the land of self-destruction and barely hung on to my Top 5. Which of course leads me to say, WTF? Well, for someone who has struggled with their weight most of their life – the land of self-destruction is filled, to my kid’s delight, with McDonalds, bagels, bologna, chips, burgers, fries lots of fries, soda, donuts, frozen coffee’s, all the stuff that I didn’t eat for seven months and which turned me into Homer Simpson.
When I first heard that freedom bell, the bell of the Feel Great Weight being over I thought I’d have a little taste here, a nibble there, and be done with it, but each week the binging over took me, the over eating overwhelmed me and soon I was on the shame spiral of all shame spirals. My family had so much McDonalds I had to put a ban on it for four weeks because when you go there for breakfast and lunch and your two year olds says “my hands are greasy” you know you have problems.
Now, in my defense, okay, screw that, my excuse? I was being held hostage by the voices in my head. It was Stockholm Syndrome all over again. Like Patty Hearst I didn’t want to rob the bank, but the voices in my head forced me through every drive-thru, demanded that I eat a bag of chips by myself and yes, they made me say yes, I do want fries with that! I was lost in a bubble of no accountability, there was no nutritionist to answer too, no trainer to perform for, freedom was mine and man did I taste it, so much so that I avoided the scale for two weeks. When I finally had the courage to face the music, I hopped on, cue the dooming music “dun, dun DUN” and saw that I had gained three pounds. And this little weight gain sent me down spiraling down into the pit of despair. WOW was it a dark place –it was like I was facing one of Voldemort’s death eaters. For two more weeks, I had convinced myself that I gained all 58 pounds back. I am so not kidding. I couldn’t see what the mirror was showing me and I walked around depressed and angry with myself. My negative words soaked into my veins, the heaviness of my thoughts led to the heaviness of my body – I actually felt 58 pounds heavier. Once again that little bitch came back to taunt me “HA! I knew you’d gain it all back, how’d you do it this time, was it ice-cream, fries, HA! You gained all 58 pounds back, what a loser”. Every once in a while I’d have a moment of clarity and say “Deanna, it’s only three pounds, stop the insanity” but as soon as the words left my mouth it was doom and gloom all over again. I was scared shitless to say the least. Logically I knew I didn’t gain all the weight back but mentally I thought I did, I really did.
I forgot every damn thing the Goddess Marissa taught me. I didn’t know what to do, and as hard as I tried my mind kept fucking me. So one day I did what I normally do and jumped on the computer, checked Facebook, Twitter and started doing my blog roll–MCM Mama, Pasta Queen, The Lost Hawaiian, Gluten Free Betsy, MizFit, Pioneer Woman, Momma’s Soapbox , Secrets of a Former Fat Girl, and support came in. I didn’t go looking for it because as you all know when you are in that deep, feeling as depressed as a fat kid being turned away from a ride, the world around crumbles and caring about your weight is the last thing on your mind. When I clicked over to Roni’s Weigh and read her post a little light shined on my face after I read: “I used to think that I’d be happy once I was “skinny” but in reality the two are unrelated. And if you really want to succeed at anything, weight loss included, you really have to fall in the love with the process and have a positive attitude.”
I couldn’t believe how powerful those words were, they just struck me, kind of like being at the right place at the right time, I literally felt my craziness disappearing. Next, I hopped on over to Lyn at Escape from Obesity and I read this: “I trust that it will taste just the same as it has tasted every other time I have made it”, that hit me like a ton of bricks. Cue choir of heavenly voices. Why? Because that made so much fucking sense and I never ever thought of it, of food, of eating that way.
I have finished two half marathons in four weeks, but I had little to no trust in myself to be who I am. I realize I had to TRUST myself, that all would be okay, TRUST that I don’t need a snickers, TRUST that I don’t NEED to taste it ALL because I already know what it tastes like. So the moral of my story? TRUST that I can do this – TRUST that I won’t gain the weight back, TRUST that over time I will change those recordings in my head, TRUST that I will ask for support when I need it from my family, from my dearest friends in the world, or from my bloggity blog pals, TRUST that when I ask for help, I’ll get it. TRUST in myself, respect my body and TRUST that eating one french fry, okay about 10 small fries over the course of two weeks will not lead to obesity. TRUST that I will stop that before it happens. AGAIN. TRUST is a powerful word one that I have to use more often. TRUST… is the new voice in my head.