After nine months of blood, sweat and tears (and I mean that literally), I finally, FINALLY managed to reach my first goal weight a couple of days ago. And yes, I have multiple goal weights and no, I still won't be revealing any numbers. Okay...fine, I only have two specific goal weights...the third one is more like "Let me see how much weight I can lose before I collapse" and I think the fourth one is "Am I socially relevant, conventionally attractive and loveable/dateable/f***able now?" Oh what?! Don't you dare judge me from the safety of your computer/smartphone screens!!!
But yes, I finally managed to cross one of my self-imposed finish lines...and I'm still not satisfied. While I, on the one hand, realize that I've accomplished a lot and I know I should be proud for pulling off such a tremendous feat of badassery, it almost feels like I'm in a perpetual slump now. In fact, I almost feel more ashamed of being seen in public now than I did a few months ago. I mean, I've become even more protective of and hyperaware of my physical presence (you should see me walking through the downtown area, I'm pretty sure I look like a wounded animal trying to find a hole or cave to hide in)...and in a twist of almost Shyamalanian proportions, I still see myself as being heavier than I actually am and am always shocked when I look at myself in a foreign mirror.
Here's the thing, it almost doesn't matter that I've worked so hard and lost so much weight because whenever I look at myself, it just pisses me off and sometimes even kind of disgusts me. Now, does this mean that I'll quit working out and paying attention to my "diet" (and yes, I know some of you hate that dirty, dirty d-word...)? No, because I've already made it this far, so I should see how far I can take it and maybe, just maybe I'll learn to at the very least tolerate my outer shell and not feel like punching a hole in the wall every time I have to look at it.
And to those of you saying "Well, if losing weight is making you so miserable, wouldn't you simply be better off staying on the more voluptuous side and being happy in your own skin?" First of all, thank you, smartass. You're clearly new to the party and don't actually know me. Your sass is not appreciated at the current moment. If I had actually been happier at a higher weight, don't you think I would've stayed at that weight and not even bothered losing it to begin with?! The plain and simple truth is: I was neither happy as a heavier person, nor will I be happy in the near(ish) future...even if I suddenly and somehow managed to lose half of my current weight. My happiness/satisfaction isn't tied to the number on the scale. So, considering that I'm going to be miserable either way, given the choice, I would rather be skinnier and less of an eyesore to everyone else. And no, I'm not saying that heavier women are eyesores or even ugly or unhappy or that I even think/believe that. This is specifically and exclusively about me. Because this blog is my playground and I get to be a narcissist for once in my life. I've even said that I might be okay with being overweight, if my body didn't look so jacked up (and if I looked more like Loey Lane or Ashley Graham). And yes, my body is a friggin' train wreck, an absolute dumpster fire... It looks like it tried to contain the blast of ten H-bombs, failed horribly and then just got duct-taped back together. (Of course, I should add that this isn't necessarily true, I just currently feel like it is.)
Anyways...this post was actually supposed to be more celebratory, considering what I just managed to accomplish...and then it turned into a brutal slaughtering of my self-image/esteem/confidence. I'm in a foul mood, okay?! Miss Bettina is so far removed from happy (whatever that might entail or feel like) that she can see the birth of the cosmos.
Oh well...here's to hoping that this month will see me being slightly kinder to myself... Granted, I don't think I deserve much self-compassion right now, but I hear that it's an important trait to have.
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