Starting Again . . . Again . . . Again

Yes, it's me, it's Stevie, hello hello hello dear friends, sorry to make you worry, sorry to have disappeared off the face of the earth . . . but I'm back, and my head is bowed, and my eyes are bloodshot, and my hat is in my hands, and I stand before you, a slightly more bloated thing than before, still employed (thank God) and doing generally well, once again connected to broadband after a nine-month hiatus and ready, finally - finally - to climb back onto the bucking back of the giant, three-headed, flame-breathing monster called Moderate Eating (ME indeed!).

I was doing so well.

Then I let a stressful job search and other mundane things get in the way.

Before I knew it I was slipping and sliding down the path, not precisely bingeing exactly but not holding myself accountable for the little things that somehow trickle down my throat without any conscious awareness. My AA friend with 25 years of sobriety says you don't have to be stumble-down drunk not to be living soberly. This is true for me. A donut here, a burger there, a pint of ice cream, half a pizza (I think of these as little things), and the legs get a little stiffer from disuse, the breathing becomes a little shallower, the clothes get tighter, the shoes harder to tie, the self-esteem spirals down and suddenly I'm fatter by 70 pounds. I had dropped 120. I'm still down 50 from my peak, but in the scheme of things, I'm back up into walrus land. A year ago I was a slightly sveldter elephant seal. The steering wheel is rubbing against my shirts again, leaving hazy black smudges across my widest spot, like a dirty watermark on a float toy.

Sigh.

There have been half-hearted attempts over these last months to get back on track; of course I know from experience that it takes a full-throttle push from all engines to turn this particular megaship around, and that half-hearted equals flop from the get go. I think it's part of the self-esteem slide, creating scenarios where I would fail in order to confirm to myself my low opinion.

I think I'm most ashamed of how boring it all is. Gain. Lose. Gain. Lose. Again and again and again. I think that's mainly why I hide from friends during periods of slothful gain. Aside from the embarrassment and humiliation for having failed again and again and again. My friends swear to me, "Stevie, we love you as you are, we want to see you and hear from you regardless of your weight," and I truly believe them, but it's me who doesn't love me as I am. I'm the one who feels disappointment in myself with every big meal, with every awareness that my chin is rubbing against my chest. I know there's no way to do something good for myself without believing I deserve it. My mantra during the last weight loss was, "I love myself, I forgive myself, and I accept myself." I believed it. I haven't believed it in awhile.

Now it's time to jump again into the pool of self-acceptance.

Here goes!