She is still me.

I was going to write a blog post titled “I am not going to be that girl”. Meaning, I looked at an old picture of myself in full disgust of what I use to weigh, look liked and exuberated into the world. I looked gross, greasy, falling out of my clothes and sick. I wanted to write about how I saw a picture of myself in a time where I was sitting on the couch staring at my computer, being lazy. I looked at the picture and started walking around and jogging in place to up my fitbit steps. I did it because I didn’t want to continue being fat anymore.

Now I’ve already written about how critical my personal inner monologue can be, so you are probably catching on to what happened there. It wasn’t until days later, probably a week after I wrote that statement that I realized what I had done to myself. That is still me I’m talking about, right? So why wouldn’t I treat myself better?

That girl in the photo I was looking at, yes she was heavy and she may have looked hot and uncomfortable from it being summer. When people see me, they see the fat girl, I know this. It’s fairly obvious from my experience. In the long run though, she is still me. She is so much more than just fat:  She loves people, loves animals, helping, painting, music, nature, hiking, camping, her friends, flowers, cooking, shopping and so much more. Why punish myself with harsh words, it only re-enforces that I should stay there.

I know that I am really hard on myself, I have always known this. The self hatred runs deep in my veins, so deep that I use to hit myself with books in high-school. Once, In middle school once I was running late for school, I missed the bus, I held a butter knife to my wrist in hopes it would do something (I couldn’t ever really get up the courage to actually cut myself, I mean I used a butter knife). It was the only moment in life I actually thought dying would be better at this moment than calling my mom who worked so far away from home to tell her that I missed the bus to school. Maybe I missed it intentionally, I hated school. I got made fun of, a lot only reinforcing that me, myself is gross, fat and ugly.

My drug of choice, and self harm of choice was using food and well I haven’t really told a lot of people this, but picking. Picking is not something I’m ready to talk about yet though.

Mom if this is the first time you are reading or learning about myself hatred at such a young age, I am sorry you have to have found out this way. You didn’t fail as a parent; I didn’t fail as a child. I just didn’t tell you, I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to have to carry another burden.

Living in this kind of fear is a learned a behavior. It’s learning from a young age that I am not worthy of loving myself, learning that I am fat and ugly. So in my battle of weight loss over the years, every time I got to a point where I’ve “Lost enough weight” that people would notice, I would reinforce those old and new voices that people implanted in my brain. That’s all you are ever going to be girl, so accept it. Those inner voices again, sneaking in, seem to be a pattern, awesome.

So it’s not that I’m not going to be that girl again… I want to learn to celebrate her and the progress she has made in and out on her journey.  Learning how is one thing, doing it day after day is another. There is more to say, though at this time I am unsure how, and what the lessons are. What I do know that my eating and foods are completely separate than what is actually happening. This is the first time I’ve looked at it from this angle. This is progress, it is a good thing. It still sucks, and what is to come won’t be easy, but it will come in time. I do know though, that I am going to be okay.

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