A bit of catharsis. Bear with.
I think I’ve put a fair amount of effort into this weight loss malarkey. I’ve retained (thus far) my determination and, largely, my senses of humour and of proportion. But yesterday I had a wobble and I’ve not got over it yet.
I was meeting my best friend after work – it was her birthday. I put a little more thought into what I was wearing and this included a skirt which was very slightly tight but that I think it’s unlikely I could have fitted into at all at the start of this process. I do not look in mirrors but I imagine I must have glanced to ensure it was okay (ie the slight tightness was not perceptible).
Yesterday I was feeling a flicker of self satisfaction – that I was in this skirt. And then I inadvertently caught sight of myself. I don’t look in mirrors for a good reason – the same reason I hate shopping – because I cannot face the unpleasant reality of my appearance. And there I was looking revoltingly fat – and just plain revolting. Reader, I looked hideous. That flicker was ruthlessly expunged and replaced with a searing sense of shame. I wanted to bolt for home, to go somewhere that people couldn’t see me. I couldn’t of course but it was the triumph of practicality over every instinct.
It really brought it home to me – doesn’t matter that I’ve worked really hard and that I’ve achieved a (very) small measure of success: I was hideous and I am still hideous and I will still be hideous for many a stone yet. I wish I could go to sleep and not wake up until I was 3st lighter. I know it’s going to take forever – and I know I’m prepared to plug away at it and try my utmost to get there – but I also know that every experience like yesterday causes a bit of me to die. Shame that bit doesn’t show up on the scales as loss.