I made a realization today regarding my struggle with my weight.
It isn’t my fault.
I know there are thousands, if not millions, of women out there who share my pain. I look in the mirror and don’t even recognize the person staring back at me. I am disgusted at the size of my jeans. I am even more disgusted that the “fat” jeans I bought over Thanksgiving don’t even fit anymore. I hate the way I feel about myself right now.
Joe tries to help, but sometimes I feel like he’s making it worse. Like he’s enabling me. When I say something to him about how fat I’m feeling, he just tells me I’m beautiful exactly the way I am. He says he’ll always love me no matter what I look like. When I hear him say these things I temporarily forget about the negative light in which I view myself. If he thinks I’m beautiful no matter what, it must be true.
But then I have to get ready for work the next day. When I open the closet and see the pile of scrubs I can no longer wear, I’m reminded that I am not the person I was even 5 months ago. The person I am must have eaten the person I was for dessert one day.
Today I was at my mother’s place, picking up some mail and talking about food. It seems my mom and I are always talking about food. The conversation turned to my weight and I said I was feeling like “a big, fat fatty”. My mom said, “I’m glad you mentioned it because I’ve noticed your ass is getting big.”
I played it off. Pretended it didn’t hurt. It did. Oh, how it hurt. I spent the entire drive home trying not to cry.
I told my mother that the weight gain was a relatively new development. Not all of the weight gain – I have years of sedentary living and poor eating to blame for a lot of it – but at least part of it started right around the time I started taking a new medication for my headaches. Being a pharmacy tech, I looked up the side effects of the new medication as soon as I got to work the day after it was prescribed. Of the dozens that were listed, the two that jumped out at me were “anorexia” and “weight gain”. I hoped and prayed that I would be lucky enough to get the anorexia one. I didn’t. This medication that has stopped the headaches and improved my quality of life is hurting me in ways I never thought possible.
Now I am faced with the question of “What do I do?” Do I take Joe up on his offer of working out together two to three days every week and see if that works for me? Do I immediately call the prescribing physician to request a different medication? What about the depression that has finally been corralled thanks to this same medication? Do I just wing it to see if I can actually be happy while not taking meds? Do I ask my doctor to put me on something that won’t make me gain weight, therefore making me more depressed, which leads to me coming home, eating an entire pint of Chubby Hubby ice cream (fitting, huh?), hating myself for eating said pint of ice cream, and having Joe find me at my desk, sobbing so hard there are no sounds and dribbling all over myself? Does a med like that even exist?
Right now I’m hoping that these feelings are the result of a long, stressful day and being over tired. It’s late. All the crying I did earlier took a lot out of me. I could wake up in the morning and forget any of this ever happened.
Until it’s time to go to work.