All your perfect imperfections

"You look hungry"

Those three words were uttered by a new friend of mine as she saw a picture of me from the Jenny Craig days. The days that I would beat myself up if I ate over 1200 calories. The days where all I would eat in a 24 hour period was a bag of microwave popcorn and panic, because I was obviously backsliding into bad habits. I was convinced gaining weight was the worst thing that could happen to me.

The days I would stand in the kitchen that belonged to the man I desperately loved and cringe as he would pinch the loose skin on my upper arms or poke me in the belly, then tell me I had work to do. The days that people who ignored my presence previously bent over backwards to talk to me. The days where I'd feel so out of place in my own body that I would just sit on the couch and stare blankly at the TV or read books in which the main characters' lives did a 180 because they lost weight and got everything they ever wanted. The days I felt so lonely because I shunned friends, because I was too scared to go out to dinner or for drinks, because the weight would come back.

I started a gym routine and exercised myself to be point of exhaustion, because I couldn't lose the life I gained as I lost weight. Regaining weight meant I would lose everything--this life I was trying to convince myself was everything I wanted, because when you lose weight, your life becomes magically better.

And my life, although it still had flaws, was better, or so I was trying to convince myself. I was back together with the love of my life. We were talking kids. I had a job I could do well in my sleep. I had a few friends and plenty of acquaintances. Blah, blah, blah--life should have been good.

However, things changed. My job lost its luster. I lost my beloved dog. I incurred debt. The love of my life started to pull away from me. The weight started to creep back on, even as I starved myself and exercised. The worst thing I could imagine was occurring. I had failed. When I began the quest to lose weight, I made a huge deal of it. I thought the more I publicized it, the less chance of failure. I was so wrong. And as the pounds began to pile back on, I hid from the world. Once more, I shunned people, as I was so embarrassed that I had failed. Not just at losing weight and keeping it off. I had failed every attempt to get a new job. I failed my dog. I failed to keep the man I thought was the answer to my prayers.

I could go on and on, but I'm losing focus.


The truth of the matter, the picture my friend saw today, one in which I was smiling so hard my teeth were clenched, the one in which I'm easily 80+ pounds thinner, the one she said I looked hungry in--she was right.




Food and I have a complicated relationship. It's an addiction. Food is how I celebrate. Food is how I punish myself. Food is my lover, my best friend and my worst enemy. Once I started the new chapter of my life on August 19, 2013, after months of spending hours alone in car, isolated, living a life I wasn't completely sure I wanted, I turned to the one thing in my life that never failed me--food. And more weight crept on, to the point where I'm heavier than I've ever been, although I fought so hard to keep it off.


They don't tell you when you're diabetic what insulin does to you, beyond saving your life. It also causes weight gain. Kind of funny, if you think about it too long. I need insulin to fix me, but as I inject myself, I'm also adding to my weighty problem. The first few months I was on insulin--I stuck to my fairly strict diet and exercise routine and gained over twenty pounds. I have reached a place where the drug I need is harming me as much as helping me. My hands are tied.


So, I have made a decision. A decision I struggle with daily. A decision that I'm wary to make public, as while I know it's what I need to do, it's not going to be popular. The chosen few that know have had mixed reactions. I've had people tell me that I'm insane for making my choice. I have people telling me that they support me. And people I desperately need to support me not say a damn word, which hurts me more then I can express.


I'm not crazy though. I'm hungry. I'm hungry to be healthier. I'm hungry for a chance to be a mother. To try the weight loss again now that I've been working hard on fixing the reasons I overeat. That process has not been easy and it's not over. I backslide more often than I make progress some days. Some weeks, I make so much progress I get scared, because I might get what I want. I have accepted that there are things in my past I can not change. I can't fix everything I have fucked up in my life. I can't repair some relationships. I won't get the love of my life back, but I now know that any man that treats me the way he did is not the love of my life.


I can't rewrite my history, but I can write my future. And I have hope, for the first time in so very long, that what lies ahead of me is going to be so much healthier, so much better than what is behind me. That the hunger I have is healthy this time, I refuse to fail. I refuse to keep beating myself up, holding myself responsible for the choices of others. I'm hungry for the chance to mold myself into someone I love and respect, as that hasn't been the case for 35 years.


And it terrifies me to admit that. It terrifies me to even be writing all of this, as the voices in my head are telling me I have no business writing, no business hoping, no business trying to change once more. But the hunger I have inside is to silence those voices. And I will. And I know I have support and if I opened up to more people, I might not be so lonely and scared of the journey I've been on and the twist it will be taking this fall. But I've been let down by so many and have let those who have hurt me color the way I think others see me. I have let those poisonous people have control over my life for way too long. And it has hurt too many of the relationships I've tried to forge over the part couple of years.


I'm not easy to get to know. I have so many walls up. I'm terrified if I let people in, they won't like what they see. I see all my flaws, my perfect imperfections and since I don't like myself so much of the time, am convinced I'm unworthy of the friendship and love of others. That's why I push people away. That's why I refuse to accept help or invitations. I get in my dark place and don't understand why anyone would want to be my friend.


But the hunger is there to change this. And that is why I'm finally breaking down this wall and sharing all of this, because if I want to quell the hunger, I need help. I need support. And this is the only way I know to begin to ask for it. This time, I'm satisfying the hunger for me alone. Not to win the love of that elusive him. Not to impress anyone. Not to make anyone like me. I'm doing this for me.


I've gone this way before though, by myself, but for the wrong reasons. This time, the reasons are right. And all I need, and it is so fucking hard for me to admit I need anything, because for me to show anything I perceive as weakness is akin to me walking naked down the street. I don't let down walls. I don't admit I need help. I don't admit I need people. But I do. My weird introverted ass needs people. And so, after typing this stream of nonsense, trying to explain my hunger, trying to bare my soul, this is what I'm asking for--I need people. I need support for this journey I can't give a name to yet, as I'm terrified I've reached this point. So, for those I share this with, if you're willing, all I ask at this point is for you to consider holding my hand. I don't necessarily think I deserve it, but I have to ask, because I can't make this hunger go away by myself.