I’ve gained weight

I’m putting that in the past tense and I’m not saying “gaining” because I’m hoping that it is not an active / present occurrence but rather something that has already happened that I now have to deal with / reflect on / learn from / move through.

Some facts:

I currently weigh more than I’ve ever weighed in my life. This is an unintentional milestone I have crossed.

I quit smoking and my doctor says it’s normal / ok / not worrisome. That my metabolism has slowed down without the cigarettes. That it’s not just because I’ve been shoving refined sugar and carbohydrates in my mouth hole.

This is not vanity or self pity. I don’t recognize my body anymore. It feels foreign to me. This is why I write.

It’s as though I’ve suddenly grown a new limb. I’m equally curious / surprised / bewildered by it. Sometimes I’ll be sitting somewhere and I’ll just start casually poking the new skin around my waistline, studying it or trying to understand it, like I’m getting to know a new visitor in the room.

I often wonder if strangers mistake me as being a few months pregnant. I wonder if this is a new normal.

I’m not a big fan of thinking that there is something about me that needs to be “fixed”. My daily survival is hinged on self acceptance. But I feel weird. Literally uncomfortable in my own skin.

So maybe you’re thinking “shut up Mel and go to the gym and get over it”. Well, sure. But that’s not the point. (Also, I hate gyms and will not go to a gym ever.)

The point is: it never ends. If it’s not booze it’s drugs. If it’s not drugs it’s cigarettes. If it’s not cigarettes it’s chocolate and peanut butter and Double Stuf Oreos. It’s the fruitless hopeless heartbreaking attempt to fill the bottomless hole in me that does not need to be filled. I need to just be all empty and spacious and bottomless and free. But that feeling is so scary and, at moments, breathtaking that I try to ground myself with a vice. Take my pick. As long as it’s a vice of self destruction and soul betrayal.

So I’m writing. To tell on myself. Nothing changes until I speak it out loud. So, here I am. And here I go.