I hate myself. I do. I really really do. I have tripped, stumbled and fallen face first into my old ways of weighing, hating, starving, weighing, hating, bingeing, hating, hating, hating. It was four weeks ago when I first made the massive mistake of stepping on those scales again. After 60+ days of not weighing, of being weightless and loving the freedom of just being me and not a number I had a moment of weakness. And like an addict I couldn’t, I didn’t stop. It started when I was getting ready for a concert and had realized that my outfit looked quite different to the last time I’d worn them. So armed with a big hangover and an even bigger curiosity I jump aboard the train wrecking machine. The numbers went up and up and up. Yep, I have officially gained 6 kilos. 6 extras in 60 days. I know to some this is not a lot but to me this hurts… It hurts a lot!
So I’m now “that” girl. The girl who people talk about and say “wow she’s put on some weight”. They question if I’m pregnant…. again. And I feel uncomfortable with the looks, I feel embarrassed to almost weigh what I did full term pregnant during my heaviest pregnancy. I am constantly hiding my belly, shielding it with any amour I can – like handbags, positioning my baby so he is sitting on my tummy, I hide behind a pram, a table, my seatbelt or when I’m on the lounge my amour is a pillow. I am paranoid to see those eyes wander down to my stomach and those deafening silent thoughts of “is she or isn’t she”. There is so much more to life I know there is but when I focus in on my circle, on the people I know, there is so much focus on being slim, loosing weight, looking a certain way and it’s pressure. It’s fucking huge pressure to be “one of them”.
So then the question becomes – can I love and live with those extra 6kgs? This is the number that I can eat whatever I like and exercise as little as I like. 6kgs lighter means working my arse off and watching every calorie I let pass my lips and then beating myself up with every additional calorie I consume. I hate it. I hate the cycle. I hate the way it makes me feel but all around me are Superwomen and superficiality. On magazine covers, on TV, on social media, in social circles, in the school yard. When you suffer from this body-hating disease you see it everywhere. One side of your brain says it’s not important. You look at your one year old son and it says it’s not important. You see your Nana in high dependency nursing home and it says it’s not important. You read back through the post “60 Minutes Left to Live” and you know without a shadow of a doubt it is NOT important. It is not important. Hating myself is not ok. It is not living. I am not a number. I am not an awful human being…. How do you switch it off…..