Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Why writing is like exercise and eating properly

Wednesday afternoon. I have an appointment with Gloria tonight. This is a very good thing. Last week the scale showed a gain of nearly 10 pounds in a week and I have no reason to believe that this week will be any better or different. I start with good intentions and then continue behaving in ways that are stupid and destructive.

I thought about what would happen if I actually made the doctor's appointment that my mother is prodding me to make (note that I showed self-restraint and deleted the word "nagging"). The doctor would freak out about how high my blood sugar (undoubtedly, although I won't check it because I don't want to know and what would I do if I did know?) is, the fact that I've apparently developed moderately high (157/88) blood pressure, and that I'm at my highest weight ever. S/he would probably put me on oral medication which would freak me out and send me into a frenzy of freak-out-ed-ness such that I'd be The Strictest Person Ever on a Diet and Exercise Program. Seriously. That's just what happened in 1996 when I was diagnosed with diabetes originally - I lost 115 pounds in eight months while eating 1,800 calories a day and working out for an hour a day, five days a week. Nothing drastic. Nothing too taxing. I could probably do it again, too. I did it in 2004/5 although it was "only" 64 pounds lost that time before I fell apart.

Doctors have told me that the relative ease with which I've always lost weight on diets shows that my body "doesn't want" to be fat. I was going to write next that "you could have fooled me because look how happy it is right now", but that's not true. It's not happy. I've got the blood pressure thing going on, tingling in my feet, terrible indigestion most nights, (TMI warning - guys, move along) recurrent yeast infections, and "sexual side effects" that are really not conducive to a romantic relationship...these are not the signs of a happy body. That's not even speaking of the stress-related issues I'm having like insomnia and shoulders that I seem to be wearing like earrings because they're so hunched up.

So why can't I just make the changes that I need to make without hearing the doctor tell me that I'm going to die if I don't? Why am I dithering around and not making progress? I keep making plans (small, manageable ones) that I don't follow through on. I just want the madness to stop and I know it's only me that has the power to do that...if only I knew what the magic word was.

I didn't want to write today but I did because I knew that I needed to and that the longer I put it off the worse I'd feel. Hmmmm, does that sound familiar?

(No comments today because I just don't want any advice, even well-meaning - I've tried it all before, I've heard it all before, and it only makes me feel worse. No offense intended!)