the numbers.

at my highest weight, i wore a size 24.

today, i wear a 10.  

i'm still not satisfied. i don't know what number/size will make me feel satisfied. 

"i want to get under a certain weight," i've told jim.

jim shakes his head. "you need a goal that doesn't involve a number. because when you hit that number, then what? you won't be satisfied for long."

"maybe i should talk to a nutritionist," i say.

"you don't need another layer. stop adding things. you have all of the tools you need. you've lost all of this weight on your own," he says.

three years ago, i tried weight watchers for close to six months. i lost and gained two pounds here, five pounds there for six months. i hated it. i hated everything but the chocolate snack bars they sold near the front door. i hated that my leader used to be heavier than me and now was thin and married and happy. she seemed so happy.

i hated sitting in a crowded room on saturday mornings surrounded by fat women complaining about their weeks, women congratulating themselves for only gaining one pound or celebrating losing two. i was envious of everyone who did lose weight. i was desperate to have the kinds of weeks others had. i wanted to be the women who lost five pounds. i wanted to be the women who were so joyful you could actually feel it just by being close to them.

it didn't work for me. i wasn't ready for any of it then. i will forever have the mentality of needing to do things on my own. and i have to accept that i need to change that.


yesterday afternoon, anna and i went shopping because i need clothes. 

i tried on five things: a dress, two tops, and two skirts. nothing fit. nothing. it was the first clothing store we went into. the day was ruined in the first twenty minutes. i kept it together as the woman in the fitting room tried to convince me to open the store credit card. i kept it together in the macy's fitting room as a very young and thin girl told me my bra size. i bit my lip and walked away.

anna was patient, extremely patient. she reminded me that every woman doesn't wear the same size in every single store. she reminded me that every store is different. if i'm a 10 here, i might be a 12 there. i can wear running pants in size medium, but my bra size hasn't changed in two years. i don't understand any of it, and all of it pisses me off.

i have to train my brain to understand that every store is different, no two pairs of pants are made to fit the same exact way.

my brain is having a hard time accepting this.

why isn't the scale moving faster? why can't i move faster? why can't i wake up every morning at 4:30 to get to the gym? i need to do this every.single.morning. i'm at a plateau. if i work harder, i'll get over it.

i'll get over it.

i know i can get over it.

i stood in a dressing room and stared at my body in the mirror. i looked at my stomach, at the loose skin. someone once touched my stomach and said, "you have a lot of loose skin there." as if i didn't already stare at it five times a day. i'll never forget it; i'm sure they have. 

get to almost 300 pounds in high school. lose 100 in college. gain back half when you graduate. lose all of it again. decide to get yourself to lose 20, 30 more. torture yourself.  

we moved from store to store and all i wanted was to sit down and obsess over the way the last skirt i tried on looked. every mirror we passed, i looked at my face, checking my neck, seeing how big/small it looked.

the only things i did buy yesterday were for the gym: a beautiful new bag and running shorts.

"i want to get a bag that's big enough where if i took a trip, i could use it then too," i said.

"oh, for all the relaxing you do," anna said.

zing. girl's got a point.

the physical weight i have lost sometimes feels like it's still there. i've felt this for a long time. the weight is still there; it's taken up residence on my bones as emotional weight, psychological weight.

it will stay there until i learn to let it go.

let her go.

"i still hate the fat girl inside of me," i say.

"you're just trying to make peace with her," molly says. "it's not about the numbers. the goal should be to be happy. there are women ten times bigger than you who are a lot happier."

jim once said, completely out of nowhere, "you have a listening problem." this made me laugh, a laugh deep from my belly.

"why are you laughing?" he said.

"because i know you're right. and no one's ever said that to me," i said.

perhaps it didn't come out of nowhere. i hear him. i hear molly. i hear anna. but i don't really listen. i don't listen because i don't believe them.

i want to believe them.

one way i know how far i've come is after a day like yesterday, the old me would've gone straight to the fridge or fast food. this time, i went home and cleaned. i took a breath. i went to bed early. i woke up when molly called and we talked and laughed for twenty minutes. 

i wonder if i'm always going to feel like this. is this always going to be here?

jim constantly tells me, "breathe."

i need to listen better.