There is no Wagon and you Cannot Care for a Thing you Hate

I'd like to start by pointing out that in the last post I was very frustrated and very down on myself but that any kind of self-damaging behavior was not and is not an option.

That said, a lot has changed. 

My weight went up.

And up.

And up.

I didn't like how I was feeling. But, I was very concerned about psychological effects of any weight loss efforts. See, when I looked at dieting and exercising it seemed to have a very similar mentality to self-injury. It was trying to punish and deprive the disgusting worthless fat part out of me. And, I knew that this attitude was COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE. This is not how you condition any living organism. You cannot create a desired behavior through punishment, not ever. Unless the desired behavior is anger, fear, and learned helplessness. Which is exactly what our society is doing. So, I made an effort to start loving myself, and loving my body, and combating the feeling that I needed to hide until I was thin, that I needed to wait to start my life until I was thin. Because, here's the thing, you cannot take care of a thing you hate. We teach all girls at a young age to hate their bodies, to hate their bodies so much...that they take care of it? No. They don't. I think it's a fair measure to say that even most of the "normal weight" and "thin" girls are not taking care of their bodies. I tried to start seeing my body as good. Because I have to love myself as I am. 

I decided it didn't matter if I lost weight. I was going to be healthy. If my body wanted to be healthy at whatever weight it was, then I would learn to love it.

I bought a stair machine. Because I love my body. And I like the feeling of running up stairs two at a time, and I missed being able to do that.

And Lent began. I've gone off all sweeteners but raw local honey (again). And, of course, the honey is not meant to replace all the sweeteners I'm not eating, but to be a special treat on top of a toast or in a coffee. I'm fasting from sweeteners for two reasons; 1. Because it isn't easy, so whenever I want a sweet I am reminded of the suffering of Christ, how he sacrificed for me. And, 2. Because it's GOOD FOR ME. Did you know that almost everything has sugar (and if not sugar than a sweetener) in it? Yeah, I mean that literally. That bread? Sugar. No sugar added? That's 'cuz they added Splenda. Those crackers? High fructose corn syrup. Those potato chips? Sugar. That frozen diet dinner? Sugar, and a ton of salt. Those frozen veggies with butter/cheese? Sugar. That yogurt cup? Sugar or splenda. That soy milk? Sugar....eeeevvvvrrryyyyttthhhiiinnnggg. I've watched a lot of videos on healthy eating and have come to a few conclusions; Whole food is better, organic is better still, veggies are way under suggested and sugar is bad for you (with the exception of fruit and the occasional teaspoon of honey). I love my body and I love God, so I gave up sweeteners. 

My weight has come down some. About 10 pounds. It's still high. And that's okay. I'm going to throw out my scale now. Because my scale doesn't get to determine my value or my health. 

I've started my garden, it's more than twice the size it was last year. I do pottery. I do sculpting. I use my stair machine every day. I don't watch television. I'm considering continuing my "fast" after Lent ends. I love going to parks and walking. I've been accepted into grad school. I am of sound mind and sound body. I have no time for things like scales. Life is calling to me. 

That thing I can't get over

When I think about how men I knew in South Korea, or men I dated, wouldn't even glance at me now because of my weight gain in the US, when I think about how I would be stopped in the street and told to loose weight if I was still there, when I think of all the ways society through every sensationalized picture and article derides me for my weight...

There aren't many times anymore that cutting seems like a viable option. I'm pretty much totally against willful self-injury this far out. But, when I think of all those things, I want to take a sharp knife and cut into myself, cut down too the muscle on my arms and legs, stomach, face and back. I want cut until the ugly is cut out of me, because surely being covered in scars is far better than being fat.

*deep sigh*

I've lost weight several times, (hiking often, watching what I eat, doing weights, and running regularly, often for two hours a day, for over a year) down into the 160s, which is still roughly 15 pounds above the max weight I should be at my height and 20 to 30 above what they'd like me to be. So, please explain to me what the fucking point is? I loose weight, work my ass off, forgo relationships just to work out because it requires SO MUCH TIME, embarrass myself at the gym six days a week, by being surrounded by people smaller than me, who look at me with amusement or disgust, only to STILL BE A FAILURE. I mean, really, that's the reality, society says, if you're not a "normal weight" than you're a failure. If you didn't get there than you're actively choosing to be ugly/unhealthy/unattractive/undesirable/worthy of punishment and derision. Don't worry, I got that message loud and fucking clear. Maybe I should have been working out  3 hours a day. Maybe I should have quit my job and just worked out. Maybe I should quit school and quit eating, because I certainly can't work run and do weights two hours a day, eat 1200 calories, and then try to make A's or work (I tried, I would get dizzy and brainless and weak about half way through the day, trembling, tripping, sometimes unable to stand I felt so weak, and I stank). At that point my brain is only capable of the simple math required to count and recount and fucking recount all the calories I've eaten, always rounding up so I don't "underestimate" the calories in something.

I would love to be acceptable in the eyes of others. That's really what it boils down to; the thing I'm incapable of achieving, the thing I can't get over.

I would like to go to a nutritionist for someone to help me make a plan and keep me accountable, and advocate to help me see extreme healthiness as a reward rather than a punishment, but when I think about it I have panic attacks imagining how she/he will tell me I'm killing myself and poke me rudely and and treat me with disgust (this, has, in fact, happened before, so I'm not just imagining some impossible scenario).

Mostly, self-injury doesn't seem like an option, but when I think of those things, it feels like the only one.