The Story of L

I was always the skinny girl. That girl in high school and college with the great body:  slender but not too thin, curves in all the right places, and great boobs.

I can say that about myself now because I never had any idea I was that girl until I wasn’t her any longer…and I am most definitely not her now.

I got married, had a baby. Eventually lost the baby weight and became her again. Then there were anti-depressants that made me balloon, and it took me three years, but I did lose the weight and kept it off, also for years…until taking the same anti-depressants AGAIN.

Last time, I gained 30 pounds. This time, I gained 60 pounds over the course of 8-10 months, and now weigh ten pounds more than I did the day I went into labor. It’s frustrating and depressing, and honestly? Scary. It should not send my heart pounding and leave me breathless just to walk upstairs, especially at my tender age of 30ish.

Over the past several months, I’ve “started” dieting many times. The most recent attempt was only just over two weeks ago, and I’d lost 3 pounds in as many days before it all went to hell. The good news is that I switched meds, and even though my lifestyle hasn’t changed, I stopped gaining.

I love good food. Expensive cheeses, cheap potato chips. Vodka. Bacon cheeseburgers, fried seafood. Breakfast. I said I love good food. What I meant was, I love to eat.

Which might have been okay, if I was a little more healthy about it. I wasn’t, though, and it eventually caught up with me. (Doesn’t it always?) I can blame the anti-depressants all I want –and I do, lol– but at the end of the day, if my eating habits had been better, would I be here right now? Most likely not.

I started out 2014 by making sure each of my meal plates were half vegetables and/or fruits. I actually really love fresh fruits and veggies, so this isn’t a problem for me as long as I have them handy. That worked out well until I got lazy, which was about the time that my most recent “diet” went to hell.


I realized today that I’m tired.

I’m tired of being the broken record of weight loss. I’m tired of my “fat jeans” being almost too tight. I’m tired of being out of breath and out of shape. I’m tired of knowing that I am considered obese by medical standards. I’m tired of my best friend (we’ll call her S) being all for the fat-acceptance movement and totally making me feel that wanting to lose weight is all vanity. I’m tired of sleeping in strange positions to support a body I’m not used to having. I’m tired of my husband telling me I was snoring. I’m tired of regular household chores making me sweat like a stuck pig.

I’m so fucking tired of being overweight.

I am ready for a change. I am ready to return to the old me, and when I find her again, to truly appreciate her. She was exquisite, and I am so sorry I didn’t see that back then. I see it now.

Let’s do this.


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