There was no “the moment” for me. I swam a ton as a kid, and ran cross country in high school. I was pretty slow, but I still got up at 5 every morning to run a few miles. After I blew out my knee (due to not taking care of my feet, which are horribly flat) I went back to swimming and would swim a 5k a few times a week. In college I exercised some, but between taking 18-21 credits a semester and the supernaturally good cafeteria, I gained a lot of weight.
Montage of seven years of desk jobs, video games, reading, drinking, and a progressively increasing depression that eventually landed me in the hospital. Gaining weight, and realizing I needed to do something about it, has been a long, slow burn. During these years, I’ve always wanted to get things under control. When I exercise and eat well, I look better, I feel better, I sleep better, I deal with my depression better. I know that because I’ve started my fitness journey a dozen times. Probably more. I’ve started off totally on my own, used accountability groups, joined a gym, joined another gym, used Insanity, used this app and that app, recorded everything, even tried boxed meals. Everything I’ve done has fizzled out within a month or two.
I’m trying it again. I broke up with my girlfriend just a few days ago, and my depression is at an all time high (low?) and I’m afraid another hospitalization is not out of the question within the next few weeks. Although I came to the difficult realization that I did not believe we were going to work out in the long run, I still love her dearly, and I trust her implicitly. And she still has faith in me. That’s part of what keeps me going now. I’m trying desperately to get back on my feet, to spend time with people I love, enjoy my hobbies, try new things, all this and that. And that includes giving weight loss another shot.
That’s why I don’t want to write this post. The truth is that I have no idea if this is another start to the journey. Maybe this will stick, maybe it’ll taper off in a month or two, maybe it’ll be over. I have no idea. I already carry the shame of a dozen other failed attempts with me, and the fear of adding to that pile is crippling. If I’m really brutal with myself, I don’t have faith that this is going to go anywhere. I don’t know if this post is the first step in my journey, or a look at the middle of a journey that started years ago, or a total waste of time. It scares me that I’ve taken photos of myself without a shirt on to compare to later, because I’ve already done that too. I’m launching myself into instability at an already extremely unstable time in my life.
I don’t want to post anything, because I doubt you’ll ever hear from me again. So, why am I doing it? Hell, I really don’t know for sure. Maybe it’s to motivate myself. Part of it is definitely that I need some encouragement, especially now that I don’t have the constant source from my girlfriend that I once did. A sliver of it is because I’m begging for that sweet, sweet, Reddit karma that makes me feel so damn good, even though I know it’s egotistical and sort of sad. But there’s a tiny ray of hope that I’m latching on to: maybe something good will come from this. I don’t know what or how, but I’ll keep the door open the tiniest bit, just in case. Wish me luck.
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