11:15 p.m. - 2004-08-08
All week, BFRB (see prior entries) and I have been planning a shopping field trip for today. I had convinced myself that, despite a week which is remarkable only for its utter lack of anything interesting happening, I would have some "fun" today. Instead, I left with no impulse purchases and a completely foul mood, despite BFRB's best efforts (including the old standby, comfort food in the form of cheeseburgers and onion rings) to make me perk the fuck up.
For those who have not yet figured it out, this is not a funny story, nor does it offer any pithy observations on life. This is about a crisis in confidence. You see, for the last five months, I've been doing some serious weight-loss work. I've gone to the Y 6 times a week, tried to stay away from comfort foods, and managed to lose 50 lbs. But before you start with the exhortations of glee, I should explain that I have another 90 or so lbs. to lose. It's only in the last two weeks that anyone has even really NOTICED that I've lost weight (other than the friends I have bored to tears about the struggle, that is). I've lost enough that almost none of my clothes fit, but not enough to buy what I want and have it look good. Hence the crisis.
Logically, one would assume that such an accomplishment would offer a boost in self-confidence. Perhaps that was the case at first. However, now, I feel worse than I have in a long time. At this point, I can almost hear the "they need to adjust your medication" emanating from the background. Illogical and fucked up though this feeling may be, it's very much real.
Perhaps a metaphor is in order here. Let's say, for example, that you have a car that is a complete shit pile and barely runs. I'm talking '78 El Camino here. You decide to give it an engine overhaul, repair the worst of the rust holes, and put some new tires on it. Your friends, who have been subjected to the car's various grunts and groans and unexpected vent holes, congratulate you on taking a step up. However, the asshole in the BMW X5 in the next lane just sees a piece of shit.
That's about how I feel right now...that I've done some minor repairs on a crappy car. It runs better, looks better, but ain't nobody going to be confusing it with a Lexus. The problem is, I have worked my ass off for those new tires and engine, and I FEEL like I've earned at least a new Pontiac by now....but that's not how the loan officer at Big Bob's Autos-R-Us sees it.
I don't have any friends undergoing this particular experience, so I decided to consult message boards on the internet....and it's all decidedly non-helpful. Either it's assholes talking about how fat people shouldn't be allowed to breathe, drive, wear clothes, eat anything, or receive medical care; gastric bypass patients who, while they were or are in a more similar place, are more focused on whether or not to tell anyone about the surgery or how to deal with the dietary restrictions imposed by the surgery; or people asking questions about diet drugs that really don't work. Very few people seem to be doing the weight loss the old-fashioned way.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against people who had surgery. I just thought it was a better idea to try to avoid having my entire intestinal tract cut and pasted into new and interesting shapes. And I realize that taking a pill seems preferable to spending hours at the gym. It's just difficult to do this blind and alone.
Along with this, add in the fact that I'm easily bored....and now that the initial learning phase has worn off at the gym, it's very hard to maintain focus. BFRB has been going with me, but seeing as how she's about as close to the model-thin ideal figure as possible, her reasons are different, and she is a lot more able to slack without adverse consequences.
Last week, I got a t-shirt at the gym (we have a tracking program for workouts, and I reached a milestone.) I went to do laundry this morning, and being that it's laundry day, not much could be considered clean. However, I didn't want to wear the t-shirt to do laundry....because I didn't want the "yeah, right, you work out" looks. I get them enough when I tell people I go to the Y...the appraising glance and the incredulous expression. I just couldn't deal with that today.
My whole solution to my foul mood and general frustration has been to play computer games like Bounce Out for hours on end. Why deal with reality when you can avoid it?