My Depression & My Weight
I used to be so ashamed of my weight that I would look away from the scale at the doctor’s office and ask the nurse to keep the number to herself.
But now, here I am writing about my weight for the whole world to see.
I am still ashamed of my weight, even though I am more open to talking about it. I believe talking about it will help people understand me better.
I started obsessing over my weight when I was in sixth grade, which as I look back, is incredibly sad.
I obsessed so much because there were close people in my life who initiated that obsession passive-aggressively; buying me clothes in extra-large when I was a medium, commenting on how much food I ate at family gatherings, etc.
The obsession got worse as I got older, and as people pointed out my weight in more direct ways; basically telling me I was fat in so many, carefully chosen words.
When I was nineteen I moved to Hawaii, and I had finally accepted my body and didn’t give the numbers on the scale a second thought. That was, until I met a man and got engaged, and put all of my worth in his hands.
I was in a pretty deep depressive hole for the majority of our relationship. My depression prevented me from doing much of anything, including working out.
So, I gained weight, and was too depressed to care.
But he cared.
And he told me he cared.
So again, I began to obsess over my weight. It got worse after I had my daughter, when my body no longer looked and felt the way it did before my pregnancy.
I gained weight in weird places, and have been too depressed off and on since my daughter was born to do anything about it.
But, I do shame myself, and I let others shame me, too, because I truly believe that I deserve it.
I’ve always hated my body and my weight, and I’ve always cared too much about what other people think about both.
But, now more than ever, I disgust myself and care way too much about the opinions others have about my weight.
I’ve always lied and pretended to be at peace with my body.
Well, I’m not pretending anymore.
I hate my body and my weight, and am too discouraged and put down to do anything about it.
I hate my postpartum body, even though it did such an extraordinary thing; growing my daughter.
I hate that I obsess over my weight and am then too depressed to move. I beat myself up daily, and I’m not the only one who beats me up.
I want to be thinner.
I want to be healthier.
And, I want to love myself.
But how can I when my depression swallows me up?