I'm changing, my darlings, and it is hard to put into proper words what that change is, let alone what it means. I've spent some time reading through my past via the postings from two summers ago, etcetera. There is a conclusion to which I have now come to about the two aspects of greatest similarity during each period of extreme weight loss: controlled and miserable.
Yes, I seemed happy when those beautiful size 5 demin shorty shorts fit perfectly on my hips without so much as a slight caress on my thighs. But that happiness faded as I continued to worry about each and every thing I ate, feeling as though I was literally expanding with every mouthful of excess calories. When I became thin, all I wanted was to be thinner. The only things I relied on to make my day worthwhile were the lowest possible calories consumed, the size of my pants, and the number on the scale written down twice a day. That isn't happiness...it's misery. I had so much power in controlling to an extreme what I ate. It felt like such a good thing. Instead, it was a constant reminder that perfection meant a number and how far up my arm I could encircle with my thumb and middle finger.
I'm so different from what I was then. No longer am I ana's little bitch, sad and alone, wishing for perfection through a "life style".
I think I knew I could make this change the right way after my ass was thoroughly kicked, then handed back to me full of a strength I didn't know I could possess. Six days a week, I drag myself out of bed and head downstairs. Within the concrete walls of my basement, I do cardio, lift weights, squat, and every other physical activity meant to build strength. All of my preconceived notions have been officially stripped away. Maybe my pants size does not reflect it, but I have shed something to reveal a new form of myself. I think this me is here to stay.
Once, I was afraid that my calves would become even bigger if I focused on them (they have always been strong from cheerleading). Now, they are slimmer than ever and I no longer fear the effort of tugging the legs of my skinny jeans over them. At the beginning of the summer, I was in a size medium unisex shirt. Now, my size smalls are becoming too large and the idea of stretching them out in any area, even the bust, seems utterly preposterous. The bras whose cups could easily cover a friend's face (she demonstrated it once and we all had a good laugh...at my expense) are now only 3/4 full of my breasts. The rest of my body is changing right along with it. Every morning I look in the mirror and can see it. My stomach is tightening up and the only lines that appear are the beginnings of defined abdominals.
But these changes, although wonderful, are not the most important.
I am happy.
Truly and deeply I feel happy. There is a renewed energy about me that is nearly palpable to my family and friends that I see (even through Skype).
I think it's here to stay.
Tomorrow, I'm running. Before, I always told myself that I would never try to run until I was skinny enough to look good doing it. Tomorrow will be my second time.
I'm getting stronger.
But better yet, I think I am truly becoming me.