When I was at my fattest, miserable and deeply unhappy, I dug deep inside and decided that I was worth more than being that person. I was worth changing the way I live my life to be more healthy and eat in ways that didn’t keep me running on that damned hamster wheel.
I asked a male friend to help me, to listen and to hold me accountable for what I said I would do because I didn’t trust myself to stick to it on my own. I had a great track record for starting and then failing so many times that I wanted to beef up the support to help me stay focused until I could it for myself.
That friend did exactly what I had asked of him for a long time but I did the work; he helped me stay focused and was more gentle with me when I failed than I would have been with myself. Over time, I was able to stand on my own two feet and make hard choices and decisions without second guessing what he would say or how he would react.
Our relationship changed to something else along the way, mostly on my end. When I finally ended it, I was in much better shape physically but emotionally was a mess. And when I’m emotionally a mess, I eat for comfort. I’m not proud of it but I am proud that I had learned enough to only gain back 50 lbs instead of the whole 110 that I’d lost.
I thought I had let go of him completely but really, I haven’t and I’m ashamed to admit that I still go online to his website or to sites that I know he’s involved with, or to his Yahoo! profile, to just see what he’s up to. We have no contact – no mail, no phone – and I have nothing physical or digital to remind me of him.
But I continue to poke at the scabs to see if I’m all healed yet. I do that with the bruises from my fall – will it hurt if I push them? how about now? – and of course they do hurt. They wouldn’t hurt at all if I didn’t poke and prod until I get a response. Sometimes nothing is the answer. Not checking his web presence would be a nothing and it will be hard for me after all of these years.
He’s really a loser, involved with a rather seedy business and not someone I like very much, let alone respect at this point. So why do I keep poking the scabs and scars? Because he was the last male who paid attention to me. I was flattered by his attention because attention from men was so rare that I didn’t even recognize it when I was faced with it most of the time. But picking the wounds just keeps them fresh even when so much of me has moved on. Plus it wastes a lot of time that could be so much more productive.
I’ve been dropping pounds slowly but steadily lately and it’s time to go cold turkey on peeking into the past. I have a feeling that getting a handle on this will help me focus on continuing the goal I have for myself, in terms of weight loss, general health and personal satisfaction. Who knows, rumor has it that there are men in CT; maybe I’ll be in a better place to see them when they see me.