Part of why I am a blogger, and a writer, in the first place is that having a forum to pour my emotions into, good or bad, helps me to process whatever I am going through or whatever I have going on. Regardless of how many people read, turning my feelings into words is cathartic.
And right now? I need some damn catharsis. Or something. I really need something. I need to vent and let it all hang out.
Here at Scoot A Doot, we tend to keep the posts fairly light and positive. Sure, we talk about things like being busy moms trying to fit in exercise, or runs that we struggled through. But mostly, upbeat. And we’re generally a pretty perky bunch of chicks, so the positive nature of the posts is a natural extension of us.
This is not one of those posts. This post was hard to write, and will likely be hard to read. It’s raw and uncomfortable and uncensored and painful. And necessary, for me. So here goes…
I am… many things, to many people. I am a good listener. I am an amazing cook. I am a hard worker. I am funny. I am kind. I am generous.
I am… morbidly obese. I hate that phrase. It’s ugly and humiliating and harsh and accurate. I am literally so overweight that it’s killing me. Slowly, but still. The reality of my situation is that if I don’t change it, I will die younger than I should. I will rob my children of their mother, and my husband of his wife, far before I ever expected and far before I have a right to.
I am… sick. I have High Blood Pressure. My joints ache, all the time. My back hurts. I have trouble sleeping. I get winded walking up a flight of stairs. And when I work out or run? Everything hurts.
I am… tired. Truly exhausted. Physically and mentally, the act of carrying around this weight every day is so unbelievably tiring.
I am… angry. At myself. I know this serves no purpose, but I am so damn angry at myself for allowing this to happen. I am absolutely furious at myself for letting every ten-pound milestone that I swore I wouldn’t cross come and go.
I am… addicted. To food. I come from a long line of addicts. Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes. I’ve lost so many people far too early because they were ruled by their addictions. I have been fighting this addiction since I was ten years old.
I am… terrified. That I will join them. That I don’t have enough strength to conquer my own addiction. That I will fight my whole life, only to fail.
I am… sad. I am missing out on parts of my life that I will never get another shot at. I avoid air travel because I’m afraid I won’t be able to fit in the seat. I’ve flown once in the past twelve years, and had to ask for seat belt extenders. I was miserably uncomfortable and the thought of going through that is enough to make me never want to fly again.
I am… disappointed. In myself. I was supposed to be a better role model for my children. My son is now ten, and I see the beginnings of my battle in him every day. He is already struggling with weight. And food.
I am… ashamed. I feel weak. And small. I can’t look in the mirror without cringing.
I am… in pain. Physically, sometimes, but mentally, always. This hurts. On my best days, and believe me, I have great days, there is still some part of me, deep down, that is hurting.
I am… in a bad place right now. I have times when I feel like I have a handle on things. Lately, I don’t.
I am… struggling.
I am… lost.
I am…349 pounds. This is not my heaviest weight. I have weighed as much as 391 pounds. Typing that out is agony. Not erasing it is almost impossible. But putting that out there in the world doesn’t make it real. It’s already real.
I am… a good person. A good mother. A good wife. A good friend.
I am… trying. To get better. To feel better. To be better.
I am… strong. When I put my mind to it, I can do amazing things. I can do anything. I can do this.
I am… hopeful. I have seen people change their lives. I know that is it possible. I still have hope that I will be one of them.
I am… talking about it. Because no one wants to talk about what it’s like to be morbidly obese. Especially people that are morbidly obese. But not talking about it, making it a dirty, ugly, fat secret? That doesn’t help.
I am… determined. To keep trying. To keep going. Because the other option is letting myself be beaten by my own addiction. That is not an option.
I am…not done fighting. Ever. I may never win, but I will never quit.
I am… morbidly obese. But I don’t have to be.
I am… ready. For change. For hard work. For whatever it takes.
I am ready.