I don’t own a scale. I thought it would change my perception on how much I weighed, stop me from defining myself by a number. In reality I still feel the weight of that number all too much. I don’t have a scale because I want to avoid it. I am so petrified of that number increasing I choose to not let myself see it at all costs. Ignorance is bliss, right?
So at my therapists office I step on the scale when she tells me to, trying to overcome that fear. Over the past couple of months I haven’t been that affected by it. It hasn’t made me happy by any means but it also hasn’t upset me. That is until last week. At the end of the session she asked me to step on the scale. Reluctant per usual, I did. I gained five pounds. I honestly lost my shit and have yet to regain it.
I haven’t binged in months which is great. But I don’t feel great. I have been feeling hopeless, upset, lost, and frustrated. I stopped binge eating and I started working out and I don’t feel or see change. So when I saw a five pound jump it felt like every one of my thoughts had been validated. I am supposed to be this way. I’ll never lose weight. My bingeing isn’t the cause, it’s just me. I’ve talked about it to try to make myself feel better. I know five pounds isn’t the end of my journey. I know that those five pounds aren’t just due to food – I just got back from vacation where I drank more than I ever do, I was about to start my period, I’m extremely stressed, etc. I repeat these types of things to myself as much as I can but in reality my brain is going insane trying to figure out what to do. Do I binge? No, but I want to. Do I restrict? Oh my, do I want to just stop eating all together but that won’t help me. I want to give up. I want to so badly escape this.
I can’t let 5 lbs be an end all for me. I have to move past this. I may not be moving fast, productively, or confidently but at least I’m moving. At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself.