Rock Bottom Hurts!!!

 

 

Let me just start by saying, I'm keeping this raw and real. Judge if you like, but I'm just doing a giant brain dump of the after effects of a random clothes buying session.

Last night, I hit my lowest point - emotionally, mentally, and physically - since those final weeks before I separated from my ex. I never thought I would feel that pain, frustration, anger, and hurt toward myself again. I truly believed I was better than that, that I wouldn't allow myself to be here again.

I'd like to say it was a cascade of events, or blame everyone and everything else for how I currently feel. But that would be a perfect example of the lies I've been telling myself for the past year and a half. 

"It's the pandemic and quarantine, everyone's gaining weight!" 

"I can get right back on track and it will fall off no problem."

"I can still fit into my clothes, I'm fine."

"I don't look THAT big in my mirrors at home."

"It's not about weight."

"This daily pain makes it impossible."

"When we get this back pain under control, I'll be able to 

Honestly, it's me. I gave up on myself. I can picture the day that I decided I just didn't give a shit anymore, and why does it matter anyway, when the hard work of losing weight and getting fit still resulted in crummy lab results, a well-intended chat from my doc about moving my body more, and my body still hurting more and more each day, making movement so completely undesirable.

What triggered this? I can't kick the self-loathing. I hate going in public, which isn't fair to my family. I feel like everyone who knows me is looking at me saying, "OMG! What happened to her?!?" And I know these are all my own insecurities that have popped back up like a nasty zit that just won't go away. Painful, irritating, and frustrating.

But last night I had to run errands and knew that I needed new summer clothes. Because, let's face it, I cannot fit into my old clothes - not without looking like a can of biscuit dough that was left out in the sun too long! And even then... most bottoms I can't even get up as far as my bottom. It was time to accept that I would either need new clothes, sweat to death, or go naked this summer. I chose option number one.

My decision, much to my dismay, meant facing the horrifying exercise of trying on clothes. Honestly, I had no idea what size I would be - I just knew I needed something comfortable and cheap (because I'm not spending any more than I have to on this current size bracket). I hate the size of the mirrors in changing rooms. I clearly saw much more than I wanted to. And while everything fit I was depressed about the fit of everything I got. Gone is the fleeting amount of time that I truly enjoyed clothes shopping. I'm in a Ground Hog's Day version of my previous self. Avoidance, denial, anger, self-medicating with food.

To put this next part into perspective, I was solidly wearing a size 11/12 in bottoms, sometimes a 10, and a large in tops and they still fit loose. These were my sizes for a solid FIVE YEARS! I had adjusted to that. I was enjoying that. Last night I tried on XL & XXL tops and same in bottoms - or in number sizes I tried on 16/18's and 20's. I feel sick to my stomach just typing that last number. I have NEVER IN MY LIFE purchased a size 20 until last night. That is TWICE the size I was wearing. And I did this to myself! What the hell is wrong with me that I completed practices that I knew would bring me back to the body I had 11 years ago???

I walked around the store, getting the remainder of the things on my list, in a complete depression fog. No tears, no negative internal commentary... just numbness, and the repetitive "why? why did I let this happen?" 

I made a decision by the time I was done shopping, though. I can't keep doing this to myself. Hating myself is no way to live. And wishing for something to happen, won't make it happen. I had no interest in buying foods that I will make poor choices with, as I bought food for our long weekend at the cabin. I just didn't "need" it. And today has been going pretty well. Lots of water, no binges as of the work day, and I'm content.

Until about 10 minutes ago when I got an email from my kids' teacher. It's been a hell of a year. My poor 6th grader has struggled almost the entirety of their first year of middle school. They deal with anxiety, depression, sensory issues, and ADHD, and finding their place in school has been a struggle. This is the same kid who came out to me in October. They have a great, supportive group of friends, but as they also struggle with chronic daily pain, I'm not sure they attended more than a handful of weeks of school where they didn't miss a day or more, or leave for an appointment.

The email from their teacher brought instant tears to my eyes. It was clear she truly listened to my baby, and heard what they were trying to express. A grade was agreed upon between the two of them and I know I will go home to a kid who finally feels like a giant weight has been lifted off of their shoulders. This kiddo feels everything immensely, so stressing over something means hyper-stressed about it. 

And it was with that email that I realized, first, my kids aren't the only ones who need to be in therapy. Clearly, I need it as well. And second, that this pandemic has truly hit us all hard and differently. Being a mom, watching the struggles and frustrations of my kids, I know I took on some of their pain when I could. I also know that watching them struggle kills me. I thought I was doing a good job of dealing with it all, but clearly, oh so clearly, I'm not. And that's truly the first time I've ever admitted that to myself.

So, stay tuned I guess. I'm praying we can all start digging our way out of this dark pit we are in, to a brighter, happier summer and many more seasons to come.