I watched the pounds slide away. Six months, three days, and four hours of determination: 55 lbs and now 315. I stole surreptitious glances at myself when I thought no one was looking to confirm that this was indeed me. I watched my 24’s go to 20/22’s. My “new skirt” didn’t fit anymore. My piece that made me feel so ravishing hung in the closest silently hoping for my return. We had had some great times for the two months that it fit but it now hung alone and lonely. I grew sad for the person I used to be and even sadder still for my lost layers that had provided umpteen moments of warmth. It was only 55 lbs but I was getting cold, both literally and figuratively, and I felt that I did not know who I was anymore. I missed me and me missed me back. But IT had stopped telling me so. IT had grown quite tight-lipped the further I pushed IT away. We had been the dynamic duo, myself and IT; soaring new heights with accompanying poundage. And IT had abandoned me, if only temporarily, to see if I was really going to stick with this whole weight loss trip that I was on. I missed those fuller round cherub-like cheeks that hid my elongated face and my often hidden but ever present chin dimple. My new face wasn’t AS full yet still round, but could it be possible that with this change, I wasn’t feeling full? My calorie consumption had gone from 3100 a day to 1800 so in that sense, yes, I wasn’t full. But my soul felt empty, what was this about? But I continued to watch and plead for some sort of resolution.
Wasn’t this journey for the greater good of Darnisa? Wasn’t this the right move to make to ensure that I would be here for years to come, without the worry of all weight-related illness? I didn’t know but I watched for the turning point. I searched for the moment when my psyche and my body would sync, much like all the airplane seatbelts that I couldn’t close without extensions finally clicking home, and longed for the time when losing weight would truly begin to make me happy. For yes it was indeed what I wanted, but no one told me that I would feel more lost in these times than any other. At 21, I made the penultimate decision, but everyone wasn’t onboard with me. I became the queen of workout justification for fear of being pulled into tempting food situations. My home became the safe place with no treats or snacks to ameliorate my 3am cravings for bowls of captain crunch followed by toast with cream cheese and jelly. Everyone couldn’t understand my new found zeal that they were watching. It was Darnisa but not DARNISA. The loveable, affable, pleasant go to person. I was never one to put myself above others, often taking the Tale of Two Cities Charles Darney-like altruism to the limit. You need something, I got you. You want something; don’t worry Darnisa’s going to make it happen. But I watched as that Darnisa, at that time, had to morph into a more selfish person. I had to become a person who was putting her needs above others and her commitment to being healthier in the forefront for the first time in recent memory. And for that I watched my relationships with some of my confidants splinter. And it hurt.
I watched as friends drifted away for my differing ways; old eating companions choosing to find new friends to commensurate with others over everything scrumptious leaving me to veggies, grilled chicken and perfect sized portions of everything. Gone were the nights of reckless ordering and eating to fill whatever pain the day had brought. I watched as I was left to my world of new playlists, fitness magazines and food journaling. Yet, I watched as new people grew closer to me. I was not left alone but more introspective and reflective, more weight-wise in a way. This was the deep world of weight loss that is rarely advertised. Surgery, or weight loss pills or the gym do not mask the moments of grappling of what losing what can truly do to you mentally. For anyone that embarks on this journey be forewarned. For every ten pounds, and redefinition of shape through your own workout methods, comes more moments of watching and attempting to internalize that change. I was dealing with it but it scared life from me. I wondered what could happen when more months passed, more pounds left, and more unexplored sizes came into the picture and more close were left abandoned and hanging in my closet.
I glanced at my journal and hugged it to me for answers, wishing I could shake it and have it provide answers ala a Magic 8 ball: How long before I give up? Shake: Try Again. How long before I begin to feel as beautiful as I am? Shake: Unknown. HOW LONG BEFORE THIS DRIVES ME MAD? Shake: The answer lies with you…. Thanks Food Journal. I guess in retrospect I should have been shaking my head and looking for these answers, for they truly did lie within me, but I wasn’t equipped with the proper tools to answer such questions yet. And for that, I looked elsewhere for answers and watched as those answers never materialize.
I hugged the food journal tighter and snuck a glance at myself in the mirror, the shadows of the room contouring new curves and indents. My body width was still too long to give myself the true body hug that I really wanted. Yet, I hugged something close that was becoming a new friend and a new confidant for my own demons. And it was cold too. It wasn’t radiating with body heat but it glowed with an understanding of times yet to come. I was 315 and still had over 100 lbs to go. I WAS indeed Beautiful and strong yet simply less round. I wasn’t gone though at the time I felt it. Not less ME just less of me. I did the only thing I could do. I kept journaling; I kept moving and kept walking. I chose to ignore everything that wasn’t essential for my betterment and hoped to one day turn inward and answer the questions my journal could not. I hoped for mental solace and to one day watch myself and simply reflect without bewilderment and feelings of loss.
