Last weekend, I had the pleasure of being my best friend's maid of honor. Pictures from the wedding have been slowly making their way onto Facebook, and (I hate to admit) I've been un-tagging myself from most of them. I'm too embarrassed to have them appearing on my timeline for everyone and their brother to see, because holy shit, I've gotten a lot bigger than I realized!
It's one thing to see the numbers on the scale slowly rising. What's a pound here, three pounds there? But those pounds add up, and it's evident when you look at me now.
I've seen myself in mirrors, sure. I know my face is rounder, I have the double chin going on, and stretchmarks are spreading along my arms, stomach, and thighs. Still, I guess it didn't really register. The camera is a non-biased observer; it documents the reality. I had to see it from the outside before I could believe it.
The hardest part of all this is that it's making me crave a miracle fix that simply doesn't exist. I'm ashamed by what I've let myself become--the physical and the mental, everything--and I want to hide myself away until I'm well again. Until I'm ME again. Since that's not possible, my next impulse is to hide in seclusion and "heal" myself with junk food and trashy television. I won't let that be an option this time, although I know I have a long journey ahead of me. Progress will be slow, it will be difficult, and it will be disheartening. I already want to give up, except...
...I can't. Not this time. I've had my moment of basking in self-pity, but I know that won't get me anywhere but down.
Instead, my plan for tonight is to have a mini-workout, a few cold glasses of water, and a good night's sleep. I need to allow myself to feel my feelings, and I need to energize for tomorrow.
Mark the calendar--this is me, embracing the journey.