If you've been following along, by now you know the pattern: declaration of renewed determination, regular updates, occasional complaints about lack of substantial progress, dimishing returns... radio silence. Weeks, sometimes months later: declaration of renewed determination!
I have to admit it's tough coming back here time and again to admit my defeat. I know that's not news, as generally the declaration post contains some sort of sheepish mea culpa, and this one is no different. The worst is looking at the laundry list of contributions to the diet industry over the past year: buying the Atkins book, signing up for Weight Watchers online (again), the thousands of dollars I have spent on personal training. And now, the inevitable return to Jenny. Fucking I hate Jenny and everything she stands for! Which is a tough stance to take, given the heavily branded contents of my freezer.
In the last 5-10 years of my life, I have struggled more and more with bouts of depression. I've been on a mild dosage of Celexa (a.k.a. citalopram) since summer 2006. In January I spoke to my doctor about the very difficult fall I've had and we upped the dosage from 20 to 30 mg/day, which felt like a backwards step since rightly or wrongly I have this judgment about needing to use drugs to control my mood – I thought this was going to be a temporary measure. Anyway, I think the increased dosage is helping, insofar as it allows me to go to work and function, but I still feel like a piece of clothing that's been washed a hundred times – faded, rumpled, shapeless. Ready for the GoodWill bin. Some days I feel like I have no emotions, just emptiness. Way in the back of my consciousness there is desire, to do something, to be someone, to find joy in creativity and interaction, but it's such a long push to get to the front of the haze of disinterest and lethargy that the fire of ambition is barely a flicker.
In the midst of this, there is one thing that brings joy, or a simulation of it, without fail: eating. If life has no flavour, food still does. So I succomb to it time and again, in the absence of any other excitement. And then my depression becomes more profound as my unhappiness with my appearance grows. It's vicious indeed.
Then you have the whole third world sitch, and the self-loathing only grows. God, I even loathe myself for indulging in self-loathing! GAH! All this navel-gazing, over indulgence in my appearance, my clothes that don't fit, how bad I want to chuck the diet and eat a box of chocolates or whatever. How much money I spend on trying to lose weight. How much energy I spend trying to forgive myself for the pre-occupation. And I don't think that's going to change. This is where I am, this is the life that I live. I live in a privileged culture that has spawned its own brand of life challenges. They are existential rather than practical, but they are real to me.
All these demons swirling around eventually led me back to the doors of Jenny Craig. I lost quite a bit of weight using this program in years past, and kept it off for a couple of years. I was always embarrassed to admit I was a client. I need my foods measured out and pre-packaged for me to prevent me from eating everything in sight. And I will pay far more than the food is worth for this "service"! Whatever, it works for me. I've lost 7.5 pounds so I feel good about the decision. I hate putting money into the industry, but sometimes self-image trumps politics.
So that's where I'm at right now. Kinda dark, kinda struggling with the self-like business, and then struggling with the struggle to self-like, as if that's not an indulgence in itself. I know there are so many of you who will understand this, and who will want to reassure me about my own likeiness. Thanks in advance. This is not a cry for validation or reassurance. I get that you dig me, just like I know you know how much I dig y'all, and appreciate your support. Mostly I just want to share.
This too shall pass.
Love and hugs to you all!
PS Plea from a cat named Lola:
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