Hitting Bottom in the Lane Bryant Dressing Room
I’m going to Las Vegas for business in a week. I’ve known about this trip for a few months and was sure I could lose weight before I left. Of course since I found out about the trip it’s been food holiday after food holiday starting with Halloween straight through Thanksgiving and Christmas and ending a day after my birthday. I had four days to lose at least 30lbs and I don’t think it’s going to happen short of some kind of divine intervention.
And I’ve been praying to God to help me lose weight for so long now I’m sure he has me on mute.
I gave in last night and went to Lane Bryant to get a pair of slacks. I work at home, alone, and have no need for anything but jeans and yoga pants. I’m giving a presentation while on this trip and figured jeans (or yoga pants – really just an old pair of sweats) won’t cut it. I have some slacks from a funeral a few years ago but they’re too snug.
Even my fat clothes are too tight!
I tried on a couple of different pairs of slacks in a size 14. The size I have been wearing since about a month after my daughter was born (before that it was a size 16 and for a about a week in July of 2008 I could wear a size 12). I’ve been topped out at 14 ever since.
Though the truth is I’m probably an 18. They’ve just been making all sizes bigger so fatties like me can fit into them and feel good (relatively good at least) about not getting any bigger.
I’m not exactly a hoarder but I have old clothes from all different sizes and different times in my life. Yes, I actually have a pair of size 8 pedal pushers I wore one summer in 1984. I also have all kinds of size 14 pants and none of them would be even close to a size 14 today.
So there’s that realization. And, the fact that the 14s I tried on last night didn’t fit.
Talk about feeling defeated. I had to go to a size 16. They fit but they looked horrible. Everything looks horrible. I stood there looking at myself – nearly naked in three mirrors.
It was all I could do to not start crying.
How did this happen? How had I not seen the real me? How was it I could keep deceiving myself and believe that I looked ok. Not great maybe but ok.
I do not look ok. I do not look even remotely ok.
I look sick. I feel sick. I hate the way I look.
I do not want to go to Las Vegas. I do not want people to see me. I want to hide until I can lose this weight and then act like the fat was never there because the attention for losing weight is not something I crave either.
And I wonder if that is what is preventing me from losing the weight.
I don’t feel fat. From my perspective I feel like my stomach is flat and my ass is tight. Neither of those two things are true but it feels like they are, if that makes any sense.
I left the dressing room feeling completely defeated. As I walked out I compared myself to the two women who were working in the store. Two beautiful and extremely helpful ladies who are both considerably larger than me. They seemed so confident in their own skin. I was jealous that they were willing and able to wear clothing that was both sexy and attractive even if it was made with three or four yards of material.
I bought a dress and a shirt that was actually flattering. No slacks so my problem isn’t solved unless I wear the dress which is so far out of my comfort zone I don’t know if I will ever wear it.
This feeling of shame is motivating but it isn’t sustainable. I’m hungry. It takes a lot of calories to keep this body running and when I don’t get them I get shaky and eventually nervous. When I finally eat it makes that anxious feeling go away. That sounds like an addiction to me. The problem is I just can’t stop eating. If I could I would. I’ve done it with smoking and that was pretty easy. Cold turkey is much easier than cutting back.
I hate myself.