Time To Start Over

starting-over-again

As you may be able to ascertain from the title of this particular page and some of my previous blog entries, I am fat. Not phat, but fat. Well, maybe I’m phat, too. You’d have to talk to my husband about that one. There’s no question, though, that I am fat.

I discussed in a previous blog entry that there is nothing wrong with a person calling themselves fat. It is a descriptor like me saying I have blue eyes or pale skin. I call myself fat. Now, just because I’m comfortable calling myself fat doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m okay being fat. I’m not. I never have been and I’ve been fat for a lot of years.

You might ask, “If you aren’t okay with it, why don’t you do something about it”? That’s an excellent question. And it’s one that does not bring to mind an immediate or simple answer.

Like many other fat people, I have tried throughout the years to lose weight; sometimes successfully, most of the time not so much. I have dieted, exercised, Slim-Fasted, cut portion sizes~ the list goes on. I even refuse(d) to quit smoking because I knew I’d gain even more weight. And then there are the times when I’ve done nothing. I’ve bitched, complained, moaned, berated myself, cried~ but did nothing to solve the problem. Neither avenue has led to that life-changing A-ha moment that I’ve looked for since I was 18 years old.

Which brings me to today. Today is much like yesterday and the day before that and so on. I’m sitting here, yet again, pondering my life decisions that have led up to this point and the decisions I should be making going forward. And really, I’m getting nowhere.

There are two things that keep rolling around in my head right now:

1. I am a nudist and as such it becomes really easy to settle into a semi-comfortable place with our bodies no matter their size or shape. This is not a bad thing. This is a brilliant, amazing thing. I love this about the nudist community and lifestyle~ the lack of judgment (for the most part). Once we’re stripped down to our nothingest of nothings we’re all vulnerable to our differences: fat, scars, skin tone, freckles, big breasts, small breasts, big penis, small penis, body hair, dare to be bare, etc. But that is what is so beautiful about the experience is that we’re all the same in our differences and our vulnerability.

The flip side of that particular coin is that we can, indeed, settle in to a semi-comfortable place with our bodies no matter their shape or size. It’s great to be comfortable with yourself and the skin that you live in~ unless the skin you live in is not in the healthiest state of being.

Which brings me to my next point.

2. I am a diabetic. My weight has finally gotten away from me to the point of presenting with physical health issues. I used to be fat, but not “unhealthy”~ no high blood pressure, no high cholesterol, no high blood sugar, no wheezing and puffing and struggling. No longer. My blood pressure is still perfect. My cholesterol isn’t horrible. My blood sugar, though… ehhh. I can’t seem to get it in line. I have tried. I can’t get the hang of it. Or I couldn’t. Once I tried and it didn’t work I just stopped giving much of a shit. It seemed pointless to be miserable and reap no rewards for my efforts.

See, I want to go back to the gym. I want to eat better. I want to lose weight. I want to just… be healthy. I don’t want to huff and puff and struggle. I don’t want all of the risks that go along with diabetes. I want my blood sugar to be under control. I want my cholesterol to be good, not just okay. I want all of those things.

What’s holding me back?

I’m terrified. I’m terrified of facing one more disappointment. I’m scared of eating better and exercising and cutting out sugar and reducing my carbs and quitting smoking (did I mention I smoke? Yeah, that too) and doing everything right and everything still being wrong. I’m scared that I’ll just feel like a disappointment.

Where do I go from here?

I guess I go back to the gym. I guess I drag my ass out of bed at 5:30 and hit the treadmill. I guess I start over.

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I'm Sick and So Are You

What illness taught me about how truly warped we all are

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