Hi everyone,
First time Reddit user here. I am here to learn, share, grow (and shrink, ha), and be inspired. Most importantly, I am here to find a sense of community as I begin my weight loss journey.
And I feel it’s only right to share my story. Unadulterated. Here goes.
I was the average kid growing up — not a pound underweight, not a pound overweight. When I was eight, I was diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). My OCD manifested in various ways, one of which was over obsessing about everything that anyone said to or about me. It also manifested in the form of self-harm ... and collecting pens.
My mother was not only worried but confused at the absurdity of it all. My father, however, was quite angry. Angry at me. Looking back, I know he was scared too. Unfortunately, for my extended family and classmates, I became the object of ridicule. I had to endure mean comments throughout my childhood. And they were always indirect enough to keep my parents from saying anything. I felt alone.
My family even began to bully me over utterly nonsensical things — such as my weight. I had an average BMI! I was physically healthy. But they still saw reason to call me obese, chubby, indulgent.
But it didn’t get to me. I was extremely tenacious — almost defiant. I had an insane amount of self-respect for myself. For me, it was enough that my body was sustaining me. It was my temple. And I was analytical enough to know those comments transpired from their own insecurities. I was smart.
But that outlook changed. As I got older, my spirit became weaker. It was as though all my life, I was a balloon inside a thousand more balloons. I was intact only because they were protecting me. I just didn’t know it until all of them popped.
What got to me was repeatedly being called fat and lazy.
It set me off. It infuriated me that society decided to paint heavier people as “lazy” and call it a day. That no matter what, we were never enough. That being heavier was the worst thing you could be. So I began overworking. I needed to outdo everyone that called me fat and lazy. I didn’t want to give anyone the excuse to repeat it.
So when my father unexpectedly and temporarily left, I financially supported my mother and younger sibling, simultaneously completing high school. I moved out. I worked throughout my bachelor’s degree and diploma. And now, I am an M.A. candidate on the Dean’s list. Every job I’ve ever held was respectable. Every achievement is commendable. I’ve given absolutely nobody in my family the opportunity to hold a candle to me.
But it’s not all that great. Through it all, I suffered complete burnouts. I developed extreme anxiety. I left no time for socialization. I left no time for exercise. I left no time to just bask in myself. To love me. Pamper me.
Worst of all, every night in bed, every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I still felt those words reverberating through me. Fat. Lazy.
It made me weak at the knees. I felt dizzy.
And that’s when the self-hatred began. Soon enough, self-deprecation followed. And finally, the scale started going up ... for real this time.
In 7 years, I went from 130 to 214 pounds.
I became what they wanted me to believe, all because I believed it.
After that, I became extremely suicidal. And after losing a close friend to suicide, my suicidal thoughts increased. I was on the brink. And then one day, as if I was heard by a higher power, someone held a gun to my head. Although I was scared for the first few seconds, I soon felt a resistance — a stubbornness. It was the same defiance I had felt as a child.
So I harnessed it.
I want to change. I want to stop hating myself. I want to stop living for the people that wore me down. I want to let go of their words. I want to meet myself again. I want to love myself again. I want to take a big fucking bite out of life.
The other day, someone said something hurtful to me about my weight gain. And for the first time, instead of letting it eat me up ... I looked at them, dead in the eyes, and said “fuel.”
I didn’t know where it came from, but I knew what it meant.
Fuel: “any material that can be made to react with other substances so that it releases energy as heat energy or to be used for work.”
It was as though, almost instantaneously, I became indestructible. That any harmful thing anyone throws my way, instead of hurting me, will create fuel to keep my chin up. Fuel to keep marching on. Fuel to love the fuck out of myself the way I am right now. But most importantly, fuel to exercise and lose weight. Not because I think it will make me a better person. But because I want to go back in time and revisit myself the way I was before I let everyone get to me. So I can go back in time and say, “There was nothing wrong with you. You were valid. You were beautiful. And I’m here to show you that.”
And that’s the beginning of my story.
What‘s yours?
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source https://www.reddit.com/r/loseit/comments/l06pv9/my_story/
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