Fog Stew: Slurping the Cranial Vapor

I used to be fat.

Sounds like the first step. Admitting it.

"Hello. My name is Trina. And I used to be fat."

This time last year I weighed about two hundred pounds. One hundred ninety-six of them, precisely. Fast forward one mammoth year, incalculable heaps of running, and a hefty load of food I didn't eat weighing on my mind, and I sloughed seventy-three pounds. That's down to one twenty-three if you're counting (I know I am).

Seems fairly average, perhaps even a smidgen pudgy by "ordinary people" standards. But it's downright wee by former comparisons. I was stretched to bursting in my fat suit; miserable, but hanging the "You don't like me, well fuck you, I'm happy the way I am" placard on my stoop. But secretly I thought if I could just lose xxx amount of weight, my "inner light would shine through and I could be free to be my 'true self'" and all that shit.

And truly, what a load of shit that has turned out to be.

First of all, it's about the most passively voiced cliche ever lazily composed. Second, it dismisses all the inevitable changes that occur between "Gluttony Guy from Se7en Katrina" and "Looks Pretty Regular, But Svelte by Comparison Trina." Truly, I'm healthier and look better. But a dangerous thing happens when you lose weight exponentially: it becomes addictive. Again, cliche, trite, overused verbiage. But seriously, whatever I do, it's never enough.
"I don't look that good, it's just by comparison that I look normal."
"I look alright, if you think stretch marks and loose skin are attractive."

Women and their distorted self-images. I've gone from not caring what other people think to wondering how I fell into actually paying attention to all the derisive, self-loathing diatribe positively packaged and reconfigured to make women feel like shit about themselves. How did that happen to me? My parents raised me to by a Reasoned Skeptic. This person who thinks she'll look better if she loses five more pounds --that's not me! "What the hell?" I ask.

But the whole carnival mirror perception of myself is, sadly, beans compared to the actual physiological upheaval pillaging my body. Apparently, though I do not have an eating disorder, the affects of losing a large amount of weight in a small span of time are quite similar. Amenorrhea, loss of hair, mood irregularities, all that fun business. My point here is that, I thought losing weight would help me feel infinitely better about myself. I thought it would polish me to shininess, not dull my glow! In the end, I've become restless, moody, dissatisfied, spacey. Before all this, all the "allys" in my life (mentally, physically, sexually, socially) were relatively aligned. I was focused, aware, sharp, motivated. Now, I'm distracted and my mind wanders off on its own... (Oooo, a light bulb...) Mostly, it wanders off toward indifference. For the past several months, I have simply not given one solitary shit. It's frustrating.

I see and hear everything and everyone, but can't seem to process any of it. Nothing sticks. No sensations (except taste). Touch is... No, touch doesn't work, either. Emotions: Irritation and blank. Raging irritation. Or blank. Those are my two modes. I churn idle dribble through my head all day, but can't remember a single thing that floated by. I'm only really happy right after I finish running --but almost no other time. Runner's high and all that.

I'm glad that I have the ability to change, even though I'm not taking appropriate advantage of that particular skill right now. And I know how incredibly blessed I am. Again, I realize this all tastes overwhelming like complaining (which I do waaay to much of) and melodramatic threnodies, but I really only mean to write it all down. Throw it all up. It might be the only way I'll remember what the hell I was thinking when the sun comes back out.