Fat. Again.
Nov. 5th, 2015 11:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jamesqI haven't been to Weight Watchers in months - my last weigh-in was on August 20th. Today I finally broke down and went. Mostly this is because I've been journalling off and on due to my 100 days of adulting challenge. Time to go the next step and actually start tracking things, right?
Except I knew that it was going to be bad. I have a scale. Even without a scale I knew things were bad. I feel awful all the time. None of my clothes fit me, so I ended up buying a bunch of new clothes that were all bigger. I'm starting to get medical problems due to my weight - my blood pressure is too high and I'm on anti-cholesterol pills. My joints are at the point where the one exercise I enjoy, I can't actually do, which reinforces the problem. Hell, I can't even suck in my gut anymore.
So I knew it was bad. I figured I was somewhere around 260. 260 is way way too high. Turns out I was wrong. I'm 267.
Here are some reference weights.
I am so goddamn tired of this. I'm tired of being disgusted every time I look in a mirror. I'm tired of having a body that won't do what I want it to. I'm tired of feeling like I'm trapped on a speeding train to the living hell my father endured his last years. I'm tired of a life defined by crushing loneliness punctuated with momentary distractions that keep me going.
I am so unbelievably angry at myself for this. And I'm frustrated over how helpless I am to do anything about this. About the weight. About the myriad ways my weight has ruined my life. About my utter inability to lose weight, despite having all the tools at hand.
Well, I could double, triple, quadruple the length of this post, simply by outlining everything I hate about being an obese monster, but I think you all get the picture. Guess I'd better get back on that fucking wagon, since writing isn't going to lose me any weight.
Except I knew that it was going to be bad. I have a scale. Even without a scale I knew things were bad. I feel awful all the time. None of my clothes fit me, so I ended up buying a bunch of new clothes that were all bigger. I'm starting to get medical problems due to my weight - my blood pressure is too high and I'm on anti-cholesterol pills. My joints are at the point where the one exercise I enjoy, I can't actually do, which reinforces the problem. Hell, I can't even suck in my gut anymore.
So I knew it was bad. I figured I was somewhere around 260. 260 is way way too high. Turns out I was wrong. I'm 267.
Here are some reference weights.
- Goal Weight according to WW and medical science.
- Weight at which women are willing to touch me. I'd be fucking ecstatic to be at 220, even though it's technically still overweight.
- Weight at which the BMI tips me from being overweight to obese. Anybody who decides the most helpful thing they can do is be skeptical about the BMI will have their comments removed.
- Weight at which I start thinking I'm a fucking monster.
- Highest weight I've ever been.
- The point where I might as well just eat a bullet.
I am so goddamn tired of this. I'm tired of being disgusted every time I look in a mirror. I'm tired of having a body that won't do what I want it to. I'm tired of feeling like I'm trapped on a speeding train to the living hell my father endured his last years. I'm tired of a life defined by crushing loneliness punctuated with momentary distractions that keep me going.
I am so unbelievably angry at myself for this. And I'm frustrated over how helpless I am to do anything about this. About the weight. About the myriad ways my weight has ruined my life. About my utter inability to lose weight, despite having all the tools at hand.
Well, I could double, triple, quadruple the length of this post, simply by outlining everything I hate about being an obese monster, but I think you all get the picture. Guess I'd better get back on that fucking wagon, since writing isn't going to lose me any weight.
