Damn you, laws of thermodynamics.

[dotsandlines]

In 2009, I took what was, for me, a rather major mental/psychological step. In order to keep from shuddering to a complete halt with brain-erasing anxiety during the wedding, I decided to stop worrying about my image. By sheer force of will and by reading a hell of a lot of commentary on the subject, I decided, consciously, to stop believing that because I'm overweight (actually, morbidly obese*), I am automatically a heinous human being who does not deserve to live. I decided to turn off the morality aspect of that view. Just turn it off.

- I don't deny that lots of people do think I'm a heinous human being who does not deserve to live. I don't have to agree with everyone.
- I don't deny that I am indeed right around the deathfat line. It's true. Just is.
- I merely decided that this does not equal actual, moral/ethical EVIL. Because our cultural morality in America revolves around control, and "loss of control" - being sloppy, having vices/bad habits, consuming too much of the wrong things - equals a slippery slide into ~~the abyss!!!~~. Watch a yogurt or chocolate commercial sometime and count the references to "sinful" and "indulgent." The Puritans never left, folks. Their spirit lives on, ironically, in secular America.

Anyway, if it seems that in the last three years I have a weirdly cavalier attitude toward life, well, yes. Still depressiveish, still socially awkward, still introverted - but I threw off the guilt that used to overshadow about 85% of my thought processes, 24/7. And I still do not care. It's amazing, sometimes. Ohhh watch out for that slippery slide into The Uncontrolled Abyss, people! You'll... do... things... that are scary, like... play ridiculous dance games and arrange flowers and sew a lot. At least if you're me. Ooga-booga!

I am still conscious of, and invested in, improving my habits and being healthier. However, I do not couch that in panic, in "I need to stop eating cookies because I am a bad person if I don't." And generally, partly because I am no longer single and partly because I like cookies dammit, it's easier for me to focus on getting more exercise than restricting my diet. Adding to this, getting regular exercise goes a very long way toward keeping my mildly depressive tendencies in check. So I work out, because it's fun (I usually avoid types of exercise that bore the crap out of me), because I want to get stronger and have more energy, and because if I don't, I get really, really cranky.

Hence all the posts about DDR and Dance Central. They're miles more entertaining than more typical methods, even though they are not as globally beneficial - I'm not lifting weights or paying close attention to muscle groups. (I do have games/programs for that, but man, they're boring.)

Thanks to Jay's influence, I finally started getting medical checkups a year or two ago. Most of my vitals are better than popular opinion might expect. Blood pressure, cholesterol, all that jazz. Last year I was doing OK. Not great, but OK.

Which brings us to this week. I got a checkup after a year of sticking to my workout schedule pretty well, and doing a pretty bad job of even pretending to try to live on salad. (Contrary to popular opinion, we don't literally spend all of our time eating, though.)

And my vitals are WORSE, and I am PISSED. WHAT THE HELL, PHYSIOLOGY. Everything is up, across the board; I think I've gained weight, my blood sugar and all are up, although the blood pressure is still all right. Ffffffuuuuu.

I don't feel demoralized. I'm just pissed. I read about syndromes that mirror SOME of the issues I have, but not the smoking gun(s), and I remember that getting suspicious based on internet searches is a Bad Idea. I think about conquering myself like I'm climbing a damn mountain. And I remember that I'm not fighting myself. I am working WITH myself toward a goal.

I don't care whether I lose actual weight. I am used to being a size 18, and honestly, I don't even care anymore. Yeah, given my druthers I'd be a stronger, more agile figure, but I really can't imagine being any smaller than a 16. More importantly, I want the symptoms, the numbers that represent things that could actually factually kill me, fixed. FIXED.

This is going to be rough, if I pick up this gauntlet. Really rough. As in cooking entirely for myself, all the time. But I know a challenge when I see one.

This doesn't mean I'm going to be a better person, or that I've failed, or that I'm worthless now. I am not ashamed. I am defiant. Fuck you, triglycerides. Seriously.


* trufax. I'm 5'7" / 241, which is a BMI of 37.7. Depending on who you ask, the line is at 35 or 40. Morbidly obese, and I walk 2 miles every weekday and play an hour of DC 4 days a week. Just saying. We are not all housebound. And you know, if I may get preachy yet again, people who are housebound deserve human respect.


That's my rage of the day. And now I'm done.

(This gets the "gender" tag. It is related. I could go on. For days.)