Torture

My body is a yo-yo. I have dieted my entire life. I have gone through the stages of accepting myself for who I am to feeling like a whale. No matter how thin I have gotten in my life I have always seen myself as fat. When I graduated from high school I dropped a lot of weight. My sister in law and I went on Weight Watchers together. Within a little less than a year I had lost 100 pounds. I was at 180 when I left for college. For my height and bone structure I looked good. I looked “normal”. I left an abusive relationship when I went to college and ended up in a confused state of being. I lost more weight because food didn’t matter to me. I had a bowl of cereal every other day or so.

Food is a celebratory adventure, not a depression or stress related enemy. I lose pounds quite easily when I’m in a depression or am crazy manic over something. It’s when I’m happy and excited about something that I love to eat. So, my first year of college out of state was one where the weight just poured off of me like water. My main staple was alcohol. It filled me up enough to where my stomach never growled and made my mind numb to any pain. My roommate called my parents a few times to let them know she was very worried about me. I was too skinny. People started asking if I was ill.

Let’s be straight up about this. I am 5’8”, large bone structure and built like a German girl. I have sturdy shoulders and hips made for child bearing. I am never, ever, no matter how thin I get, going to fit into a size 8 or 10 or whatever the latest designer is stamping on their tags without looking like a lollipop. I find those model girls to be disgusting, inhuman, creepy creatures in desperate need of their alien brood to take them back to the mother ship. So, when I lose too much weight I look like I’m dying of a disease.

My mother had me on diets from when I was a little girl. Before I knew how to swallow a pill, she would put diuretic pills in my food so I wouldn’t taste them when I chewed. Isn’t that ironic. She ordered crap off the TV to see if it would slim me down. One time, she bought this powder that you put in the bath water and soak in to remove cellulite. When it was time to get out I was so weak that I passed out. Mind you, I was an extremely active young person. I danced whenever music was on, I was in tap and ballet, I swam in the pool every day, I rode my bike constantly, loved volleyball and tetherball and badminton. We had all of these things in our backyard. My mom and I played softball together. We had two acres of land and used all of it for recreation. My family ate for celebration. We had family over every week and cooked huge amounts of food.

However, if I was sad my mother would push a piece of cake in front of me and tell me that it would make me feel better. If I wanted a piece of cake on my own she would ask, “do you really need that”. My Bubby, sweet Bubby…I was dropped off at her apartment every day after school. She would have a Hebrew National salami sandwich on white bread and a piece of chocolate bundt cake waiting for me at the kitchen table. Every day. Now, mind you, this was my after school snack, not lunch. It was way past lunchtime. We would laugh and talk about my day. It was a fun and happy time for me.

Between the happy food times and the distorted messages from my mother I developed an eating disorder. Ya think??

Hence, all of my life I have treated my body like a yo-yo. My dream of dreams is honestly to love myself for whoever I am. Whether I’m 300 lbs or 180 I would like to feel what it is like to just be okay with myself. I know that, in general, people are never satisfied with what they look like. I know that I am no different from a lot of women in the United States. But, I am me and I can only feel what I feel and speak to what I personally go through.

Right now I am on a diet. Or as the professional like to pretend “a lifestyle change”. Okay, whatever lets you sleep at night. I have lost, over the last four weeks, 12 pounds. I have not gone down a size in my clothes nor have I seen a difference in my body. Having dieted my entire life I understand perfectly well that the first few weeks of weight loss consist mostly of shedding the water weight. It is easier and makes you feel like you’re accomplishing something. I think it’s the dieting gods way of boosting your ego enough to keep you going. And then it hits. Out of the fucking blue it slaps you in the face like a large cream pie. Pun intended. Once a week you step on your nemesis and close your eyes, hoping this thing does not chop off your toes and shove them up your lumpy ass. One eye peeks, then both eyes look down. You hold your breath, waiting to see a square electronic flat box determine your mood for the day, perhaps the entire week. The red numbers glare at you like the laser beam eyes of your enemy. You either release the breath you were holding and smile or curse yourself claiming to the world that you are a complete failure. You leap off and dance around the room, writing down your progress and thinking of a wonderful treat, with pretty bows and colorful paper, you can hand to yourself to celebrate your hard work. Or not. The opposite can happen. You could very well end up having to find a way to remove your cut off toes from your lumpy ass. You have put all of your energy into what the numbers say. Somewhere some sick imaginary being is laughing at your demise. Your body slumps, your energy drains and your emotions plummet. This square electronic flat box has now taken hold of your brain and emotions. Either way you have given all of your power to the demon with the glaring red laser beam eyes. Frickin’ laser beams!

Today this was my morning. The stupid little box took over my world. It read, quite loudly I might add, that I was up 4 ounces. This was the first week of exercising for me. I put my muscles through some serious work. I spent two days in hydroworks class. Let me just tell you, if you have no idea what this is, it is fucking hard. And the instructor was a bitch to boot! I spent another afternoon swimming laps.
I ask you, do these things not burn calories and fat? I exercised more this week than I have in a year. And I’ve gained 4 ounces. Really? Are you kidding me?

The sick imaginary being who rules over the Land of Skinny is having a hardy knee slapping laugh this morning. I hate that fucker.