Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Choking one's chicken!

I broke 100 kgs (220lbs) back in December 2004. By the middle of January 2005 I was at 107 kgs (236lbs). Then, I did my lolly and got back down to 100.9 kgs (222lbs) by the end of March.

Then I choked.

I hovered around 103-104.5 kgs (226-230lbs) for the next seven months. But by the end of November last year I was at 100kgs (220lbs) even.

Again, I choked.

July this year? I was at 108.2kgs (238lbs) For someone who's in the vicinity of 5'2”-5'3” that's one big Mama! As of last week's weigh in I'm once again down to 100.9kgs. Here I stand once more at the borderline. Ack! Can't get song out of head! Must Write!

Somehow the way you look at me won't let me be
I don't want to be your prisoner so scales won't you set me free
Stop playing with my mind
I'm in such a bind
When you make my weight come down
I want it so, let me know
Scales please let it show
Numbers don't you fool around
Just try to see, I've exercised all I can,
You won't get the best of me
Borderline feels like I'm going to lose my mind
I'm gonna keep pushing my weight over the borderline
Borderline feels like I'm going to lose my mind
I'm gonna keep pushing my weight over the borderline
Keep on pushing me scale
This time I promise not to fail
I'll just keep on pushing my weight over the borderline


Apologies there Mrs Ritchie, I couldn't help it, honest. My muse, she does that, hijacks my post and goes where I really wasn't expecting. Bloody wench!

Where was I?
Ah yes.

I'm a big fat choker!

Correction. I was a big fat choker. I'm not gonna let it happen this time. The chickenshit who lives inside me is gonna be choked to death so she can't make me turn tail and run away again. Yes, it's that kind of chicken I'm planning on choking. So I guess those that thought it would be a hot, steamy post about wanking, sorry to disappoint.

Third time's the charm and all that, right? I don't even know why I keep choking at the 100kg mark. What's so scary about the double digits? I remember the feeling clearly last time I was standing on the threshold and it was definitely a mixed bag. Hope, fear, excitement, anger and eventually depression. It was all too much. I held it on the threshold for two weeks straight each time, and then badda bing badda boom. Lookit that! A honkin' huge dive back up. A frantic, despairing lunge back into safety. Safety from what?
The first time it was probably my body's reaction to the miscarriage, but the second time? I had no excuse. None. Zip.

People who say “losing weight is easy, all you have to do is stop eating so much” have obviously never had an emotional connection with food. Lemme rephrase that, an unhealthy emotional connection with food. I find it odd that quite often these same people will applaud those that spend hours at the gym out of pretty much the same reasons we spend hours at the trough. Fear. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of failure. Fear of the world in general. They erect a physical barrier so that people can't see the real them on the inside, same as we do. Theirs is just a more socially acceptable barrier. Any addiction is brought about by mental imbalance, it doesn't matter if that addiction is “healthy” for you or not. Maybe that's been my problem in the past, I hadn't been truly ready to give up my addiction.

Logically I know that if I keep eating the way I currently am, that if I exercise every day, then eventually I will become a healthy person, since I am now living a healthy lifestyle. Emotionally this scares the shit out of me. Logically I know 100kgs is just another number on the scale like any other. Emotionally I've placed great significance upon it. Logically I know that I will be below 100kgs by the end of this month and that I truly want it. Emotionally I'm dreading Thursdays this month as it's my weigh day.

I'm so scared. Scared that I'll screw up again. Afraid that I may not. Every year for the past five years I've been extremely disappointed when New Year's Eve rolls around. My one goal this year has been to get below 100kgs. In all probability I will achieve that goal this year. I'm floundering around in this sea of success and I'm not sure if I'm sinking or swimming.

Ugh, I just broke out in a cold sweat as my subconscious shouted at me, “It's because of the babies, Stupid!” See, sometimes this free form babbling really does help. LOL

I lost over 15 kilos in the lead up to coming to America the first time. I wanted to make as good an impression as possible on the man I hoped would become my boyfriend. At 80kgs though I still thought I was fat, in spite of having lost all that weight and months of working with a personal trainer. I look back at those pics now and realise just how buff I actually was.
10 kgs crept back on during the end of that visit and when he first came to visit me 7 months later. 2 glorious months we spent together, 1 in Australia, 1 in the USA, after which he proposed.
8 months apart was all I was able to stand before I had to come over to get married. I screwed up a lot of plans, but I knew that if I didn't go I'd most probably eat myself to death. It didn't help that Iraq was invaded around this time and I was shit-frightened that if I didn't go, there'd be a good chance I might never be able to go, so I went. I wanted to go, and I went, without thought for my menopausal mother's mental health, for my father's 50th birthday party the following month, for nothing but myself and my need to be with the man I love.
Married life is fantastic. INS was a pain in the arse, but a necessity for future happiness, so you jump through the hoops as they come up and don't complain.. well not TOO much or too loudly where it matters. I hadn't counted on missing my family, having culture shock, and suffering depression when I realised just how lonely I was.
Bear with me, this is going somewhere.
You see, I promised Alaskaboy last year after the miscarriage that we wouldn't get pregnant again until I was healthy enough to give it my best shot. Being healthy means getting pregnant. Being under 100kgs means a major step closer to having babies. To possibly having another miscarriage. Farther along the path to having little people totally dependent on us for everything. This brings home the ultimate reality for me about living overseas from all that I grew up with. And transcontinentally from all that Alaskaboy grew up with.
It scares the shit out of me and makes me ache for everyone involved.

His parents and sister live a 5 hour plane flight from here. My parents, brother, and nan, live a 15 hour plane flight from here. It's hard enough now saving to go and see them, missing out on each other's daily lives, missing my dog so badly, worrying about whether we can get a house and also keep up any regular sort of visiting schedule.
I'm from a very close-knit family. My parents both worked full-time and we spent many happy afternoons with Nan and Gramps after school. Big family gatherings for Christmas and boxing day. Family bbq's throughout the year. Etcetera etcetera.

Our kids will probably never know that.

I was talking to my father-in-law on the phone the other week, and in the background I could hear my mother-in-law and my eldest niece babbling away together as they did the dishes. I was consumed with hurt and jealousy. And yet I felt like a heinous bitch for feeling those things.

I also still have no friends of my own here in Los Angeles.

So yes, it's all about the babies. Once I'm healthy, my husband and I are planning to have a little family of our own. Yet, I'm so deathly afraid of what change that will mean to our lives. Each child adds another ticket to save for. Each child will bring home harder the reality of the choices we've made by living here so far from home. How will we cope with no support network? Each day that I stay fat is another day that I don't have to deal with any of this shit. I can safely say, “oh well, too fat to get pregnant, let's wait another year, dear.”

And that's NO reason to stay fat. My selfish fear of living the life I flung myself into is robbing us, and those around us, of the potential joy our children will bring. That's just not cricket!

The chances that I'll choke this time? Buckley's and None.
So yeah, maybe it is time I stopped being such a wanker and get on with living my life!

The life that I chose.

Consider this chicken officially choked.

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