So if you’ve been following along you know I hit what I call my ‘fibromyalgia weight’ four days ago.
Honest to hell nothing clicked in my brain on any day prior to Sunday to warn me I was inching ever closer to the number I have been fighting for, for the past two years. The shock of seeing it has left me in a funky, funk ever since.
I have been fighting to reclaim my body from the weight Lyrica and Cymbalta piled on for over TWO YEARS. And thanks to weight loss surgery those pounds just melted away like nothing. I should be turning cartwheels.
Ahh, the ‘should’ problem.
No wonder I’m feeling depressed and angsty.
I’m telling myself I should NOT be feeling anything other than rainbows, butterflies, and unicorns–purple, glittery unicorns.
The truth is I feel sad.
I feel lonely.
I am grieving…not the pounds lost but the life I have lost since the day fibromyalgia changed my life forever and what sparked its arrival in my life. I was 236.6 pounds on 9 September 2009 and again on 10 April 2016.
And to be entirely transparent in that way that keeps me real…
The next pounds to lose are the ones I gained after I married the professor who turned out to be a narcissistic psychopath (No, I am not exaggerating in the least in case you don’t know that story).
Oh Sweet Mercy!!!
More grief is coming.
There are a tiny handful of things I would truly change about my life if grated the power and marrying that man is definitely one of them.
I was my best me when he found me.
As with all charming narcissistic psychopaths, I was beguiled enough to say ‘I do’.
What I did not know is he trolled for me because my four children and I were supposed to be his Penance for destroying the lives of his wife and four children. He had a magical plan that God would forgive him if he swooped me and my children up. As we stood as proxy for his ex-wife and children, he was sure he would be healed by God’s Grace.
Of course, part of his plan included me being demure, submissive, and perpetually blinded by his charm. (Oh God, I can’t even type demure or submissive without laughing. As anyone who really knows me, knows those are probably the last words that could be used to describe me.)
I guess his plan could have worked if he had managed to remain charming.
Instead he committed unspeakable atrocities. He humiliated me for sport. He abused me. He told me of his plans to rape and pillage those who have wronged him. And, he was enraged when I wouldn’t sit back and take it all with a cheerful and willing spirit much less worship him what he felt was magnanimous charity toward me and my children.
Fortunately for me, he failed to plan on his mental illnesses to unmask him. His true colors are the stuff Stephen King writes about.
The stress of our 18 month marriage piled on about 25 pounds.
As we were divorcing, he called me ‘elephant ass.’
Right this very minute…
I am sitting on those 25 pounds.
Yes, the bulk of the weight I gained landed on my booty. Yes, those words stung. The tear sliding down my cheek says they still sting.
But what you don’t know, unless you know the whole story, is the professor was teetering close to 500 pounds when he decided on this cruelty.
The man with the waist bigger around than I am tall called me ‘elephant ass.’
Unfortunately he’s not the first super obese person in my life to say something nasty about my weight so it triggered all of those past pains too.
Those are the next 25ish pounds on my To Lose list.
Losing weight isn’t about losing weight and losing weight alone. It is about losing all the shit that came with the pounds.
A 500-pound man with a questionable grip on reality called me elephant ass…and I have to deal with it.
Even though I already knew this was coming I guess I am a little surprised it has arrived so quickly.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck.
When he met me, I was the strongest me I had ever been.
I had risen from the ashes of abuse and neglect. I had healed myself and my soul. My words were even being featured on the gratitude journal section of Oprah’s early 2000’s website.
Me. On Oprah’s website.
Less than two years later we were divorcing and the tell-a-tale symptoms of fibromyalgia started appearing.
It is the scar of our relationship that will never leave no matter how many pounds I lose.
Despite much personal growth, I am still not back to where I was the day he found me.
Even if I could snap my fingers and be instantly rid of those 25 pounds, fibromyalgia will remain. It has changed me and the course of my life. Granted some of the change has been positive but this new reality does not lead back to that woman I was.
So maybe I just need to get a grip.
Maybe I need to cut myself some slack.
Maybe I need to deal with the terrifying horror that was being linked to the most truly evil human being I have ever known.
“These next 25 are some of the most painful ever placed on my body.”
Maybe I just need to say that, put that out there, and let it be.
Maybe I need to trust myself and all the work I have done to reclaim the spirit of the woman who captured the attention of Oprah’s people.
Maybe I just need to be present. Because my here and now is even better than the woman who was the best me could have foreseen and frankly that’s pretty damned amazing considering all the shit I’ve waded through to get here.
Maybe I just need to do the work instead of feeling glum.
For my sleeve to do its job, I have to do mine.
So I’m feeling a little off…
If this is all you know about my story, I am sure you’ll tell me it’s to be expected.
Maybe I need to give my elephant ass a hug before I shove it off the wall…