Working the Kinks Out

***Today’s post is very much stream-of-consciousness. As I was working through a frustrating situation in my mind last night, I found myself typing it out in order to better organize myself emotionally. If it feels weird at times, I encourage you to read all the way through it before jumping to conclusions.***

 

To not do what you’ve always done.

That’s the hardest decision.

We’re all looking for something, right? Don’t know what it is, or why we’re looking for it, but there’s something we’re trying to find. Maybe we’re looking for the answer to a philosophical question. Maybe we’re just looking for a way to pass a college math class. Maybe we’re looking for an escape from an abusive background. Or the perfect marriage. Or the cure for the cancer. Or maybe, we think we’re looking for all those things – but in reality, they are actually the same desperate search. Maybe we’re all just trying to figure how to be… happy.

I think that search starts early in life, and nobody ever finds the answer right away. This is unfortunate, because while we’re searching, we inevitably find any number of things that temporarily fill the void. Everyone’s demons are different, and all of them have consequences. Mine? Food. Food is legal. Food is easily available, and from all outside appearances, food is harmless. And for someone like me, all of those things make it the perfect poison. But the problem with poison is that no matter what form you take it in, using it long enough will eventually kill you. And in most cases, you won’t be the only one who suffers. When you become totally obsessed with your poison, you’ll break the hearts of the people who love you most long before you realize the damage you’ve done to yourself.

In a post that I wrote a few months ago about encountering a hairy woman in the sauna, I received some negative feedback. My solution was to decide that for the rest of my blogging life, I would just pretend that I love everybody. All people. No matter what your freaky problem might be, I won’t dare admit in the blog that I might not be your number one fan.

But that’s a lie. I am a real person. And like most real people, there are other real people that I really don’t like. In fact, there is one person in particular I simply can’t stand. I’d rather scoop my eyeballs out with a melon baller than have to look at this person, because looking at this person inevitably means listening to this person speak. And listening to this person speak makes me want to pour acid on my ears so that my hearing will be mercifully destroyed before I have to hear another story about how the world would practically fall off its axis if it weren’t for this person’s brilliance. And unfortunately, due to the circumstances surrounding my relationship with this person, I can’t avoid having to spend time with this person on a frequent basis. And if pride were the only problem, maybe I could deal with it a little better. But what really gets to me is that this person is controlling and condescending and downright mean in ways I’ve never encountered in my entire life. And I am constantly in this person’s line of fire.

And do you know what I’ve been doing to cope? I’ve been eating. Not good food. Not healthy food. And I’ve quit exercising. In fact, I haven’t been running regularly since I came back from the Memorial Day 5K. At first, it seemed harmless. But that’s how it starts – you don’t lose nearly 60 pounds and then destroy it all in one sitting. You relapse so slowly that even you can’t see it. After hitting my lowest weight, and even starting a new weight lifting regimen, it seemed like I was fine… on the surface. But then I started eating a cookie here and there with my lunch. Or swinging by a fast food joint on the way home. Or keeping a container of pita chips at my desk. Nobody would say that any of those things are bad. But I know better. Because for me, it’s not just food. It’s an escape. It’s a part of my life that I can control. While interactions with “this person” literally strip me of my happiness and joy, food is a secret that brings temporary relief.

A secret. It feels good. Nobody else needs to know about it, because nobody else will understand. I don’t want to tell you about it because you’ll overreact and think I’m out of control. You’ll think I don’t know what I’m doing, and frankly, I don’t want to hear it. This is my coping mechanism, my way of equalizing my situation. And you aren’t perfect either, so keep your opinions to yourself.

I call your bluff, Elle.

This is the part where I use my brain. This is the hard part. Yes, for many years of my life, I paved a superhighway in my brain that led me straight to food whenever I couldn’t find whatever it was I was looking for. And, yes, I’ve made some poor choices recently to return to the familiar habits. And now I’ve packed on five of the pounds I’ve worked so hard to lose.

Keep thinking. Keep working through it.

I’m hurt by my own actions. It will take me weeks to work up my running endurance again. It will take me at least two weeks to drop the pounds. And there will pain, again, as I correct my course and push myself out of the all-too familiar tracks that I’m on and move to the unpaved path of healthy living. But it won’t hurt me nearly as badly as it will hurt the people I love if I keep heading down this road. My parents, who love me more than words could ever say, will be devastated on my behalf if I pack all my weight back on and abandon the work I’ve done to improve my quality of life. My sister will wonder if (and probably arrive at the sad conclusion that) I really am incapable of change. My grandparents will give up hoping that they will ever see me win the battle.

Finish the thought process. You’re a smart girl. You can do this.

If I can’t be honest about my life and the choices I’m making with the people who mean the most to me, do I really believe I’m making the best choices? Of course not. If I were really dealing with this so well, I’d be proud enough to tell people about it. “Guess what Mom and Dad!? Lottie!? Guess what!? I’M OVEREATING AGAIN!!! Aren’t you proud!? Isn’t that so wonderful? I’m miserable because of a certain situation in my life that I have absolutely NO control over, and in order to deal with it, I’m going to lie to your face and tell you everything is A-OK (Or maybe I won’t tell you anything at all. I’ll just let you go on thinking that I’ve made changes for real this time because it’s too hard to tell you the truth.), but behind your back I’m going to shovel crap down my throat. Over, and over, and over again until I’m right back where I started: 212 pounds and trying to convince myself that just a little bit more food will make me happy, even though it never has, never does, and never will. And you’ll see it coming all along, but you won’t be able to confront me about it because I will protect myself behind a screen of deception. But the only person who will believe me… is me.

Yes, I’m allowed to be upset and have raw emotions and wish that I could take life in my hands like a band of saltwater taffy and bend it and stretch and twist it until it fits exactly into the shape that I think it should be. And I’m allowed to take the easy road and find happiness in fleeting episodes of food-induced highs. Those are the actions of someone who has given up hope.

But that is not what I’m going to do, because I am NOT a hopeless person. No matter how weak my resolve may be right here in this moment, the resolve is still there. And so what if I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t even begin to picture an acceptable future without donuts and macaroni and cheese? Just because I can’t picture it right this second doesn’t mean it can’t be possible. It IS possible. Feelings are stupid, and feelings will betray you every time. When I’m in a scary movie, and I scream at a monster on the screen, it’s because my stupid feelings do not have the intelligence to determine that the monster isn’t real. So screw feelings. They are easily the most unreliable and incapable players in this game. I messed up, and I admit that. And now I’m putting it behind me and forging ahead. It’s better to struggle — and have the support of my family and PFG community — than to succumb quietly to a poison that leaves me a lonely liar.