by, 07-02-2012 at 01:44 AM (627 Views)
It was requested by Gabby that I make a blog post about my weight endeavors.
I like writing things story-like, forgive me for my dramatic-ness haha
I was a very small little girl. Every picture we have of me I am so thin you can see my ribs.
Between the grades of fifth and sixth however, everything changed for me. I went through puberty and put on fifty pounds over that single summer break. I went from a tiny little girl to a short fat kid over night.
By middle school it was the worst. Between seventh and eighth grade I was over two hundred pounds and barely five feet tall. I maxed at 220. I was never one to allow someone to make fun of me for my weight. Anyone who tried was met with mockery of their jokes. I already knew I was fat, no one was a bigger critic than I was, and I was not afraid to let people know that.
I rode my bike every day for hours. I stopped doing my homework. I rode till it was dark outside, and I never stopped moving. When I went home, I was filled with disappointment. I sat at a table with my mother, brother, and sister. They were all thin and tall. But here I was, this short little fat kid.
School eventually got too hard to attend. Between my mother's drama with drinking and drugs at home and my weight creeping a new problem into my hands, I was lost. In eighth grade, I already wore a size D bra. I always felt like the boys at my school were looking. And from that point forward, I wore nothing but mens shirts and hoodies to hide my problem.
In ninth grade, I was removed from my mother's care. I was forced to go live with a father who was always at work and a step mother who beat me as a young child. I grew incredibly depressed and stopped eating. I went down about 60 lbs. And I assumed it was because I was starving myself.
Through high school, I realized that I was not cut out for the starvation method. I love food. I love cooking, and I love creating a happiness for myself that I can only find with food. I started eating normally again and gained most of the weight back, if not more.
By twelfth grade, I was back up to 180 lbs and was up to a size F bra. The weight I could have lived with, but the breasts I couldn't. I felt hideous, disgusting. I tried to have boyfriends but I couldn't stand them touching me. I was so repulsed with myself it was unbelievable.
In the middle of my senior year, I started having problems with my pilonidal cyst. They're pretty common, they appear at the end of your spine and are basically because you had a 'tail' before you were fully developed in the womb. Typically, they cause no problems. My weight was putting too much strain on the cyst however, and caused it to pop and heal into multiples. They fueled each other, and it became the worse part of my life. The last half of senior year was hell.
The cysts bled every day. I was on pain medication from my doctor. I got a cold or step like it was a way of life, and I was sick every single day. Headaches and migraines piled up, and I abused my pain killers to keep myself sane. During one of my doctors appointments, we found out that the weight of my breasts was too much for my spine. I was going to have to have breast reduction, and I was thrilled to be rid of them.
A week after I graduated I had surgery on my cysts. And then a few weeks later I had my reduction surgery. It was the most horrifying thing I've ever had happen to me in my life. As my body changed over over the next six months, I found myself going through serious identity problems. I went through depression again, but this time gained weight. And the doctors told me I was on the path to gaining all that they'd just taken from my breasts right back.
I felt so lost. I was sick all the time still, my surgery scars weren't healing like they were supposed to, and I felt worthless. Of course, my mother; who I was living with yet again, didn't help. I found myself hating everything, and I treated everyone around me as poorly as I could to drive them away.
One day when I knew I was going to be all alone, I took the rest of the pain killers I had left and waited. I figured with how sick I was, I wouldn't make it passed 25 anyways. As time passed, I progressively felt more worthless until something in me jolted with fear. I felt like there was something important I was missing. I scrambled to the phone, and I called the person I knew was closest. My brother; someone I hadn't really gotten along with my whole life.
That day he saved my life. The brother I thought for sure would find me pathetic and not care, saved me. And most shockingly, without judgement.
He sat me down and he told me that he couldn't lose me. That he understood what I was going through and that he'd seen the pain I was in and that he'd been trying to find a solution, but he didn't want to get my hopes up and he wanted to test it out before he tried it on me.
What he found was the Genotype Diet. A diet based on your blood and the way it reacts with food. He had spent the last three years finding people to see if it worked on everyone. He had found people of all different blood types and all different body types, and it had worked for all of them.
The following day, we found my blood type and went through the steps of finding out what foods were good for me and what foods were bad for me, and it seemed to suddenly make sense. I started to think about what I felt like when eating those bad foods, and I wondered why I had never realized before what I had been doing to myself.
It's almost five years later now. I don't really consider it a 'diet' anymore, although that's what you call it. I consider it more a way of life. A way of finally getting to live.
I am down to 120 lbs. I haven't weighed this since fifth grade. I can't remember the last time I had a headache or a migraine. It's been well over a year since I've gotten a cold, and it lasted for about twelve hours. I am finally happy with the way I look, and I have finally learned to let a man close to me; I was lucky enough to find the man of my life had been with me the whole time. He'd been with me since I was sixteen, waiting patiently for me to learn to love him back.
You never really appreciate the little things until you've lost them. I still sometimes sit in front of the mirror and remember how I used to feel, trapped in that body. I remember what it was like to not be able to see my collar bones. To not even be able to feel my hips. How I could never fit into any of the clothes I enjoyed. And how I was afraid to be close to anyone because of how I felt about my body.
I can't say that things are perfect now. I still have days where I sit and I cry like any other person, hating the way I look. Even if it's something as silly as the color of my hair triggering it. I still have days where I feel fat because of all the loose skin I have. I'm not perfectly toned or magically the same girl I was over a decade ago. I have scars from surgeries and stretch marks that remind me of what things were like before. There are so many struggles I'm sure I'll still go through for the rest of my life.
At least now I actually feel like I am the way I am supposed to be though, and that's good enough for me.
I don't particularly enjoy showing people what I look like, buuut I suppose it has a purpose here.
[[On a side note, I will try to take a more recent picture of myself. The most recent I have is a year or more old.]]
[[ps.ps. I reply slow / get shy / anxious / etc easily about serious topics so don't be mad if I don't respond to all comments asap please!]]
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