Mad. Just Mad.

I am mad. Just raging, throwing shit against a wall, stomping my feet, cuss someone out, crash the car, run over a hated appliance, smash something, spitting, mad. I am fighting with my weight once again and I hate it. I hate the process. I hate the reasons. I hate that it takes time and I have to suffer through it. I hate that I can’t eat whatever I want and stay the size I carry in my head. So I’m mad. Just mad.

I am mad that I have to unlearn how to hate the look of my body. I’m mad that I wasn’t looked at as pretty because of my size. I’m mad that the two people who should have taught me how to love the skin I’m in, taught me instead to hate it. I’m mad that there is an eleven year old girl who cries when she thinks that she “has to” diet once more. So I’m mad. Just mad.

I am mad that I am having to reframe my whole experience of life thus far just to get past the mad and make a change. I’m mad that I was taught that ‘skinny was the ideal’ and I was anything but that, so I could never measure up. I’m mad that I’m having to learn how to love myself because I didn’t get it when I was young. I’m mad because being ‘bigger than I should be’ was the beginning of my punishment and not the first indication that something else was going on with me. So I’m mad. Just mad.

I am mad that no one asked me why I gained the weight. I’m mad because everyone just assumed I had a control problem. I’m mad because my extra weight was a defense mechanism and no one paid attention to my cries for help. I’m mad because I was forced to lose the weight at eleven years old and my abuse got worse until I gained it again. I am mad that gaining weight bought me a different kind of abuse and still does. So I’m mad. Just mad.

I am mad that weight is still an issue but no one can tell me what it truly means to “be healthy.” I’m mad that what you “should and shouldn’t eat” changes every damn year but I’m suppose to know how to just lose the weight. I’m mad that there are as many programs out there as there are people and that each one of those programs will help me lose the weight, but none of them address the reasons why I carried it for so long. Working through the reasons isn’t part of the program. So I’m mad. Just mad.

I am mad but I now know that mad can be good. Mad can help me work through these feelings, uncover the reasons, heal the pain. Mad can move mountains, break through barriers, change my mind and spur me on to beat this thing once and for all. So I’ll be mad. Just mad.

So I welcome the mad. I welcome the tears and fears and feelings that float to the surface the hurting eleven year old girl, who heard she wasn’t enough and believed it. I welcome her to love her through the pain, the loneliness, the guilt, the shame, the hurting and I embraced her as she is, then and now. So today, I am mad. Just mad and that’s okay. <3

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  1. […] shared her feelings in an earlier post and I wanted to share mine before we start this next chapter in our health journey. My hope is that […]

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