Nearly twenty years ago, I lost 110 pounds in just ten months—appeared on the cover of Good Housekeeping magazine, the local newspaper, books and catalogs. I did the Atkins diet, but in an extremely unhealthy way. I restricted my carb intake to as close to zero as I could for those ten months and beyond. To curb my appetite, I smoked cigarettes and drank large bottles of wine for dinner every night. Also, I was working out daily. I became obsessed and convinced that if I ate anything, particularly anything with carbohydrates, I was going to gain all the weight back, literally overnight. I looked fantastic, but I was empty and broken inside.
Rock bottom came in the cold days and weeks of January 2005, after my then husband made national news for trying to fly a commercial airliner while intoxicated. After placing blame on me, “I did this to spite you,” (narcissists never take responsibility for their own actions), he made his way to rehab and my alcohol consumption kicked into high gear. Surviving on Diet Coke and Pinot Grigio, my size two jeans swallowed my skeletal frame. The skinner I got, the better and more in control I thought I felt, but I was so sick—an emotional and mental mess.
My husband returned from rehab with a chip still solidly on his shoulder and an impenetrable wall around him that would remain until our divorce four years later. The weight came back—all of it and then some. I yo-yoed for years, but could never manage to attain skeletal status again, thankfully. But sadly, I did reach another milestone—my heaviest weight ever, nearly 300 pounds. The pendulum had swung. Depression and overeating had taken control of my life.
Addiction in any form is not healthy. When I gave up alcohol, food took its place and balance disappeared, if it ever existed, for me, in the first place. Now, I find those inner demons are waking up, telling me that if I simply eat, I will regain precious pounds lost. Conversely, they also tell me to give up...you’re older now, they say, no longer in your prime, who cares what you look like...look, the scale doesn’t move, you’ll never reach your goal...etc., etc. It’s a constant battle. Add a little anxiety and my ever present sidekick, depression, and balance becomes a foreign concept.
Self-sabotage is real...so are excuses. Although eating healthy feels right in every way under the sun, it is more expensive today than it was when I began a mere 65 days ago. I’m constantly worrying if this is sustainable, and every day has become a struggle, because the cost of living is rising almost as fast as my inner demons. Still, I am keenly aware that, one day at a time, is not an empty mantra—I try and celebrate the small victories and forgive the slips, I’m only human. Huh, sounds like balance. Anyway, this is my journey to a better me.
Peace
