lighten up

I've been thinking much about a conversation that I recently had with a dear old friend of mine, Sue. We were talking about how hard it's been to be so out of it for so long (the BPPV/ear infection) and how I have this tendency to backslide in the beating-myself-up department when I'm sick. I'm aware that I have huge issues around being sick--as in, I have no tolerance for it and try to move through it quickly and when I can't, I feel like I'm being punished or something--but there's also all the attendant issues: not being able to exercise makes me feel like a fat loser; the slow nature of my recovery makes me think that I will never truly get better; depending on S. for cooking/cleaning/anything involving bending at the waist makes me feel like a fucking invalid; and my inability to complete a whole day at my job without feeling like I'm going to pass out pushes my "incompetent" buttons, as well as pulling hard on the "you're not as sick as you say you are, right?" lever.

It all came down to this, really, actually two things: 1) beating the shit out of myself for things beyond my control is counterproductive to healing and 2) this is one of the hardest times of my life and it's making me NUTS but it will pass. It WILL PASS. If I push myself too hard the recovery will take longer. This is not what it's going to be like for the rest of my life, this daily dose of debilitating dizziness. I must recognize INCREMENTAL progress, painfully slow as it may be. And I am not going to turn into a 300 lb. hulk before I get better.

That last point is the one that's hardest for me to handle--I am NOT convinced that, at this very moment, I am less than 250 lbs. The thought of it sickens me. But I can't get on the scale. If I confirm that reality, I will lose it completely. I know we often talk of how numbers aren't all there is, but at this moment, today, that number could make or break me. I don't think I could recover, because there's NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT now, save for simply not eating. And I tried that, and S. wasn't happy with it because it wasn't helping me heal and it actually did make me feel worse to not eat, even with the persistent nausea.

this is, of course, exactly what my conversation with Sue was about. Asking those questions: So what if you're 250 lbs? You're sick. You find some comfort in food. It's NOT a permanent state.

Me: It doesn't matter. I was doing so well. I'd lost weight. And now this. (small voice: I deserve to be fat and unhappy.)

I'm not entirely sure how to lose the fear of getting on the scale. It feels like the wrong (high) # popping up in red digital numbers is enough to send me reeling into another spate of self-hatred and rage against the Body Machine. I don't need it now, so I'll avoid weighing myself until I've been able to exercise for a week, at least. Not that one week's worth of exercise is going to make a dent in pounds gained over a month's time, but at least I'll feel more capable of doing something about the dreaded number. For now, keeping that number unknown is as necessary as breathing. It feels that precarious, in here. It feels that powerful.