I am perfectly fine with that.
I weighed the same on sunday, and even though it's 1.6 pounds higher than the last time, I had never been more content.
I won't say I've never been happier, because that's not true. I have been happier in the last several years of my life. For example, when I went on Space Mountain at Disneyland during Grad Nite. It was only my second trip to Disneyland, but on my first trip a year earlier I had hands-down decided that Space Mountain was without a question my favorite ride.
I remember that ride on Grad Nite as being so immensely fun that I was screaming, laughing, and crying all at all once. I remember thinking that if you could take 100% unadulterated happiness and replace all the blood in your veins with it, that's what it would feel like. There wasn't even butterflies. Maybe initially, when it was first starting up, but once the ride really got going there wasn't even room for nervous excitement. I was ecstatic emotionally, tingling and burning with plain old excitement physically, every part of my body awake. Simply alive.
I sure don't feel that way now. But I am okay with 123.6. That number is not the devil's territory anymore. Neither is 122, 121, 120, or anything north of what I last was. When that number pops up on the scale, I don't feel the shock and disgust I used to, like it was a fist punching me in the gut every time it's nasty face flashed up at me. I don't feel the usual hate towards it, the scale, or myself, or feel depressed at seeing it anymore. It doesn't scare me, it doesn't hurt me... it is just a fact, literally JUST A NUMBER, and it rolls down my back and falls off. I say, "Okay," step off the scale, shrug, forget about it, and go on with life.
Life is life now. Life isn't food and calories and carbs and fats and protein and black coffee and tea and laxatives and exercise. Life is life, with a balance of those things. Life isn't numbers on the scale, numbers on the tape measure, numbers on the tags of clothes, or letters on the tags of clothes. That's all background music. It kinda just is, it's quiet and doesn't draw a lot of attention to itself, and it's so simply a part of things and mostly goes unnoticed, that no one really cares. It just is, and it's just a fact, and it rolls down my back and falls off and I forget about it and move on.
I go back to this current day, and I write something nice and study some, then when I'm hungry I put together something new and eat it, and think, "Hm." My mind subconsciously decides if I'll want to have it again later on, and I'm already back to doing whatever.
Maybe I'll never lose weight. But that's okay. My body is getting back to normalcy, and that's my goal. I still have this excess fat, but it's doesn't look terrible and it's not the bane of my existence. I may not like it and I may sometimes feel briefly in the pits because of it, but I've learned to get past that and continue. I would be pleased to get it off, but I can live with it on. It's just not that important to me anymore.
Where I am with this, my extra fat is still for the most part a constant awareness. I still catch myself evaluating it in the mirror and pinching it routinely, sometimes without noticing because I do it ritualistically, sometimes feeling irked that it's there and that I gained some back. It's maybe 75% of what I think about. Make that 80. I still wish it was gone and want to be skinny. All that may make it seem like it's still really bad, but that's a hell of a lot better than what it used to be. Sure I still do these things, but I don't feel awful because of it. I feel like me.
I can accept myself. I can accept an extra 5 or 10 or 20 pounds of fat. I may not like it but I can accept it, and it doesn't ruin my day-to-day life anymore. I eat clean and healthy, I eat natural foods, I eat when I'm hungry, I eat enough, I stay mostly active. I'm overall a healthy girl.
If I lose the extra pounds of fat someday, that's downright dandy. I want to lose them.
And if I don't...? Oh well... I guess that's just the way it is.
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