Back when I weighed more than 300 pounds, a co-worker made a joke about singer Carnie Wilson, who also was more than 300 pounds. The comment hurt me deeply, because it was like he was joking about me.
Then I lost the weight. And so did Carnie Wilson, though she did it through gastric bypass surgery. But it was interesting that we were 300 pounds at the same time, and also 150-pounds thinner at the same time.
Our similarities continue today, as I saw when I read an article in People magazine last night before bed. But instead of feeling, "huh, interesting," the article made me fall into a very deep depression as I fell asleep. Why? Because at 5'3" (like me) and 218 pounds (practically me), Dr. Oz diagnosed her as "morbidly obese." Which means I am, too. I truly, truly thought I left that label a long time ago and I truly, truly thought I would never go back. I knew I was obese again, but morbidly? How in the world did I do this to myself?
It doesn't help that this weight-loss seems impossibly slow. Not so much the pounds, but the fact that NOTHING fits any better. Nearly six weeks of being so good and my jeans are as tight as they were in December? Really?
It's this kind of news, all around, that makes me want to - instead of work harder to get rid of that label once and for all - EAT. Eat myself into oblivion. Eat because what's the point? Eat because, apparently, no matter how hard I work, I'll likely be faced with this label again and again in my life.
So this weekend (Sunday/Monday, my days off), will be quite the challenge for me. Fight this depression. Fight these feelings of worthlessness. Fight my instinctive urge to eat my way through the kitchen.
Fight like hell.