Hi there. I'm not sure why I'm writing this. Your name caught my eye because I used to call my little sister Jen Jen, which I think made me want to read more about your life.
I read your previous thread and I can relate to the feeling of just wanting to disappear. (To re-roll, I call it. Just.. be someone else, you know? Try again, maybe.)
I'm 33 years old and my last weigh in was 356 lbs (on a 5'7"ish frame). It's too much weight and I sometimes feel like it's never going to go anywhere. I'd gone from 365 to 329 over the course of two years by making an effort (not a crazy strict effort, but an effort nevertheless) but it seems like the first time crisis strikes, I call up my old abusive boyfriend (which is what I call cookie dough) and cling to him like he's magically healthy now and NOT going to try to kill me this time.
I find solace and comfort in food. When I am feeling stuffed to the gills, I am not feeling anything else. I am not sad, I am not grieving, I am not worried, but I am not really alive either. I'm just.. existing. How many years of my life have been spent just existing? It's ridiculous, really.
Last week my mom (she's 54) went to her endocrinologist and was told that A.) She may still have cancer (after a thyroidectomy) and B.) He does not intend to treat it until her weight and blood pressure are under control.
Her primary doctor had her on the max dosage of 1 of 2 of her blood pressure medications but increased the second in order to try to regulate. I have known in my heart that she has been lying and justifying her way to a very large coffin for years and I have been sitting beside her, doing the same.
Her endocrinologist told her that she was a ticking time bomb and could stroke at any minute. He told her that she shouldn't even exercise right now, her blood pressure is so high. 1000 cal/day diet, lean meats, veggies, fruits and minimal amount of whole grains. Do it or die, he said. And this time, he really means it.
She's scared and she's trying now and it's hard. Her heart has been working so hard for so long. Her limbs don't want to hold her. Her lungs fight for breath. And you and me, we're looking at our future in her struggle, I'm pretty sure.
When she got the news, I promised to do this with her. I'm trying, but I'm not as scared for me as she is for her. Fear, the greatest of motivators, is not truly on my side yet. So I slip. I ate two corn dogs and a buncha wheat thins for dinner last night instead of the tilapia I'd put down. Who is this person who takes such lousy care of me and who the heck put her in charge?
Today has been better. I had a good breakfast, a good lunch, I ate a small piece of chocolate which didn't make me feel any less empty or miserable, but gave me a pretty pink foil bunny to unwrap for 1.2 seconds of my life.
There's a second one here in my mini fridge at work, but I don't even want it. I just want to be better. I want my right knee to stop searing and making me wish for pain killers. I want to not feel dizzy sometimes. I know it's the weight. I know I'm only 20 lbs away from not feeling dizzy anymore, I was here before, remember? But even 20 lbs seems pretty far away right now, you know?
Above all, I know that only this moment matters. What I did with the previous 12,240 days of my life cannot be changed. It cannot be altered. Ever. EVER. It is. It is what is. I need to keep saying it because I feel like I haven't accepted it just yet. 33 years have passed. They have passed. They are not hiding anywhere, they are gone. I cannot reach back through time and acquire them, live them over, redeem them for a better prize. Nope.
Nor can I reach into the future and pull out a 180lb version of myself to enjoy today. I can't even promise myself that there will ever be a 180lb version of myself.
But here's what I can do. I can throw that second chocolate bunny in its perfect pink foil into the effing garbage can.
And tonight? I can take my dog on a (albeit short) walk and cook tilapia and an artichoke for dinner.
I can worry about what I'll do tomorrow... tomorrow.
You and your struggle are in my thoughts.
P.S. I just threw the bunny in the garbage. Baby steps.