I have written here about my weight loss and how with every pound I lost I had to deal with the reasons I gained them. I talked about the emotional part of losing weight. The struggle of losing the armor that protected me and comforted me. I shared my joys as I shed the image I had of myself- the uneducated teen mom… the hillbilly whose family members sexually abused her just like in all those jokes people tell that aren’t really funny at all… the person destined to be abused in every relationship.
I did it. I am in love with the most amazing person. I lost 110 pounds. I ran a marathon. I graduated from college. My daughter is doing well in college and succeeding in her own path. I got the career I wanted. Life is good. I mean really good.
But I am not. I know exactly when it happened. It was the second to last blog that I posted, if you want to read about it. But, here is the recap- I had surgery last April. My step-mother sent me an edible arrangement.
Memories washed over me and I ate to feel good. I was mad at myself. I felt like I dealt with these issues and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. After all, my life was good. I gained 20 pounds. Then I struggled with running. It was hard for me to get out the door. It was hard for me to do something that felt good. Next came the stupid shame cycle. I was ashamed of the way I felt. I was ashamed of losing my healthy mind and body. I was ashamed of not being able to do more. I was ashamed of not being able to talk about it. I pretty much stopped blogging because I had nothing left to say. I was failing myself and that made me feel ashamed.
Twenty more pounds came on and life kept coming at me. I was dealing by trying to pretend that I was dealing. Forget running, waking up was my new struggle. Going anywhere was a problem.
I remember going to the “Chosen Family” Thanksgiving. I cried the hour before leaving the house and the hour and half drive there. I remember thinking that I needed to get myself together. I was being ridiculous.
I gained 20 more pounds. Pretty much stopped running and now find it a challenge to get out of bed to go to work. This is the reality I find myself in today. All because of painful childhood memories I don’t know how to deal with.
I don’t really believe in depression or mental illness but here I am getting ready for my wife to take me to the doctor. Here I am spending more days crying than doing anything else. Here I am in my wonderful life, perfectly miserable.
It’s time to stop pretending that I am okay. It’s time to start running toward my life again. I hope this includes mental growth, beautiful runs, a stronger marriage, more amazing bonds with my daughter, and life’s beautiful celebrations. I hope to blog more, run more, and celebrate what I have been through.
Run On!
