For those who have never physically met me, today marks the day that I have lost over 50 pounds. I can't even begin to tell you how HUGE this is for me. 10 years ago, food was my worst enemy; every morsel I put into my mouth repulsed me because, in a way, my very self repulsed me. Food was my weakness and I hated weaknesses.
10 years ago, I was a given a choice. Eat or die. Have a tube shoved down your throat or die. I was not allowed to take gym class in 9th grade under doctor's orders. They feared my body was eating slowly at the strongest muscle in my body and I would have a heart attack. I was told to stop running, but I couldn't. I was told to eat, but I couldn't. As much as hearing my mother cry through the small wall that separated our bedrooms killed me, all I could do was pretend to eat by taking meals in my room and throwing away the "eaten food" into my trash can. I apologize if this is too graphic for your stomach in advance, but if forced to eat with the family, I would either go for a run and purge in the woods, purge in the shower, or purge in my room with my music blasting. There was no end to my lies and sneakiness about food. That is, until my grandmother passed away from pancreatic cancer (and all the other cancers she got from having pancreatic cancer). When she was close to passing on she talked to all of my aunts and uncles separately, but she also talked to me, the oldest grandchild. Her dying wish of me was to get better. So I did. I reverted back to straight bulimia for a while, but eventually I ate and kept it down with a random purge once in a blue moon during a difficult time.
The weight started piling on. I'd diet, then go back to old eating habits. I'd try another diet and it would work for a while, but I always went back to my normal eating patterns; eating massive amounts some days and very little on others with almost no attention paid to the nutritional value of each meal or snack. Eventually I ate for comfort in the same way that I used to starve myself or purge for control. I still wasn't paying attention to emotions. It's taken me ten years to listen to myself and to start loving myself again, but I'm finally here.
I may not be at my goal weight. I may not always exercise. I have been struggling recently with body image distortion, but I have noticed it and am working on it. Maybe it's the perfectionist in me :). However, I have gained something I've never had. I've always been a "love slut". I'd stay by anyone's side if they'll just love me because I never could value or respect myself.
I've mentioned before that I approached Weight Watchers as an exercise in respecting my body and myself as a whole. I preferred this because it was better than looking at it from a restrictive, food-based angle. I feel like I am there and that my grandmother's wish has been fulfilled. All along on this very long journey, I have felt her presence. In a way, she has made it known. My grandmother was the first person to ever call me Miss Meg (the nickname I carry on my blog). Since she passed away, over a dozen people have called me Miss Meg on various occasions. It may sound odd to some, but every time someone calls me by that nickname, I feel her presence and it is a motivational comfort.
This war is not over, but several battles have been won. Thanks again to all for everything you've done.