heavy

Never say never.

It's been a long ass time since I posted, and I won't go into why--suffice it to say that I needed a break from just about everything, and I took it, and I'm back.

This does not mean, however, that I am happily back. Well, I should say that I am happy to be writing this, but I am not happy with the fact that I weighed myself a couple of days ago and then cried my eyes out. S. was infinitely supportive. She said she could tell I was cranky by the way I walked. I find that amazing. I asked her what she meant--she said it was in my step. "It's heavier," she said. "I can't really explain it." Interesting. I'm heavier, my step is heavier, my heart is heavy, the snow piling up and piling up outside is heavy. Heavy, dude.

I actually had this fleeting thought today: I will never be able to lose weight. I am destined to be a fat person. I must make peace with this. I cannot make peace with this. Will I find myself ready end it all in coming months because I realize that such peace is, truly, unattainable? I know that sounds drastic, but I've never been a person who operates on Low, who is just feeling "a little" something. I don't feel "a little" fat. I feel HUGE. I don't feel "a little" out of control. I feel like I'm careening into disaster almost daily. I burn High with all my dysfunction, all my addictions. Pain is a friend (yes a friend--one must learn to love that unrelenting ache) that I said goodbye to long ago, but still it lingers, sets up house, just outside my closed (and locked) body.

It's true. I am tired of the fight. I'm the perfect person for that ad on TV where the song is "Always on My Mind" and the people are walking around with scales chained to their ankles.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. I hope the new snow wipes these muddy thoughts clean. I hope I can get home.