|La Vérité |
Jules Joseph Lefebvre
Over the past 4 weeks or so, I have managed to put and keep on about a pound of fat. Not water (definitely not muscle, LOL), but fat that doesn't fluctuate one way or t'other, and stays right where it is thankyouverymuch. I've done this by adding little things (an extra banana here, a matzoh ball instead of no starch there) and suffering through the immediate mood-related consequences.
I want to claw my way out of my skin from my bell button. I want to lace myself into a corset and meld it into my biology so it belongs there. I want to jump maniacally on a trampoline until parts of me fly off into the ether. I feel so. uncomfortable.
Although it's antithetical to the philosophy behind decoding and curing eating disorders, I've been making a habit of looking at pictures of me at higher weights, and making myself acknowledge the truth that world didn't end all those pounds higher, during that rounder time. That I was, truthfully, just fine, more or less. Not comfortable, still uneasy and squirmy, but fine. No more unhappy than now (the reverse, of course). And although one is not meant to assign values of good, bad, better, worse to weights or shapes, it does help to remember that I've come back from a lower weight than I'm at now, to a higher weight than I'm at now, and that I survived, and that after I adjusted back to letting my body do its thing, I wasn't abjectly miserable, as I am now after the banana, or after the matzoh ball. Or just any time, really, that I notice any perceived change for the larger.
I got through it once, and I can get through it again. My body is literally built to get me back up there, and fighting nature just makes for misery. And ain't that the truth?