Originally posted on nikbunting.me on April 18, 2014.
Weight–loss, gain, maintaining–it’s something I’ve always been hesitant to discuss or comment on. I’ve never really felt like I’ve had the right. Trending toward lean, I’ve kind of been of the mindset that the “skinny girl” should just keep her mouth shut on the topic. I’ve spent most of my life eating what I want, how much of what I want, being a lazy lump, and paying little in the way of consequences outside of high cholesterol. Yeah, boo hoo, poor, poor me.
But you know what? I have just as much right as anyone else to talk about it, whatever my size or shape. So, that’s what I’m going to do.
Five, maybe six years ago I got a wake up call during Thanksgiving. Just about when dinner was to hit the table, I hit the floor. I quite literally face-planted and am lucky to neither have broken my glasses or my nose (although I did have a pair of minor black eyes for a few days after). Anyway, I was standing in the kitchen doorway when I started to feel not right. My vision started to get snowy mixed with some red and yellow like it does on the rare occasions I get an ocular migraine. Having in the past had that precede throwing up, I decided to make my way to the bathroom so as not to puke on my best friend’s floor in front of her entire family. Instead I fainted in front of her and her entire family. Yeah, I know, awesome.
Turns out that spending the previous three years maybe having a doughnut or two or hot chocolate for breakfast, then having lunch or dinner, rarely both, wasn’t really a great way to live. I’d averaged around 125 in college and was up to maybe 135 the year I lived at home. At my last check up a few months prior to the Thanksgiving debacle, I weighed in at 118. I would be surprised if I wasn’t less than that. At 5’8″ and some change that’s not a good place to be. As my body decided to inform me.
I look back a pictures from those couple years and I can see why people were always a bit concerned and offering me food.
Steph asked me a question awhile back, did I think I was anorexic or just lazy. I’ve always leaned more toward lazy. Seriously, it’s a lot of trouble sometimes to cook for just one person. There’s ways around that. But a lot of time it came down to, meh, I can’t be bothered. And based on the food I ate (and still do), I figured if I’d had lunch or dinner, I had enough calories and whatnot to get by on. Turns out fat, sugar, and caffeine really can only sustain you for so long. Who knew?
But lately, I’ve been reconsidering that question. I still wouldn’t say I was anorexic, but it had to be more than just laziness. When I get stressed I tend to not eat. My candy consumption goes up, but actual meals fall by the wayside. So it’s possible I might have been borderline. Which is a rather frightening realization to come to. It’s not that I thought or think myself above such things, but, well, maybe I did and do. I know the signs and symptoms and all that and none of those seemed to fit me. But we are always horrible at recognize our own issues and can easily justify them away.
These days I’m upwards of 140 and wear a size 8 or 10, depending, instead of, yes, a fucking size 2, which was wrong on so many levels. This past weekend I did a clothes purge and thought, not for the first time, while trying on too snug pants, maybe i should look into losing some weight. It goes without saying that I could eat healthier and should do some form of exercise. But not to lose weight. It’s a dangerous path to go down and I don’t like getting those thoughts. At all. So what if I have some padding now? I’m no longer cold all the fucking time. And hey, my rack is amazing. Just because I can no longer fit in a size 6 or a 4 doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. It’s a justifiable reason to get new clothes and replace the maybe four year old work slacks I’ve been wearing to death, which I have.
It really sucks to realize that all these years that I thought I was above the cultural influence on weight that I’m really not. I’m as susceptible as the next person. Maybe more so after having been so underweight at one point. I don’t know.
It sucks and it’s scary, it really is.
Not very profound. But, well, sometimes you just need to have a brain dump. Take it for what you will.