It’s been a while since I’ve blogged here…okay it’s been years actually. I’ve thought about it, but like with everything lately the thought comes of I should and then the day takes over and I don’t. Plus the weight loss thing has been almost 5 years of ups and downs. Like a lot of the country, during covid, I packed some of my weight back on. I moved to Florida, started dating, ended up in something that actually stuck…and let me tell you love weight is a thing. You’re happy and feeling indulgent so you eat all the eats because you’ve been embraced by someone that loves you for you…but, then reality hits and you realize all of a sudden you don’t love who you are all of a sudden.

You see, when you’ve been as heavy as I was and manage to lose as much as I lost, one thing you don’t lose is fear. In fact, you gain it in strides. There is a 339 pound monkey on your back dressed like the grim reaper taunting you every time you put an unnecessary or unhealthy bite in your mouth that this is the one that causes you to go hurling back to the girl who broke a beach chair the second she sat down in it in front of 30 of your friends and family. It’s constantly haunting you with mental images of morbidly obese girl past. It’s a disordered disaster that ruins good moments because every pound up the scale is a descent into the sad and miserable physical state you once trapped yourself in.

So I tried to inoculate the monkey with the new injectables sweeping the nation. I truly believed that mounjaro would kick my monkey’s butt and sending it flying into the past and get me back on track…part of that was true. It did help me lose my covid/Florida/new boyfriend weight. However the monkey was still there, just clinging this time to someone who had lost the 45 pounds she gained and introducing its damage into my new relationship. Insecurity is great for relationships…said no marriage counselor ever. The shame of every food or drink slip up that wasn’t conducive to weight loss, the self hatred of my hatred and avoidance of exercise still remained, and I still feel like I’ve gone crashing back into 339 pounds every time that scale number increases, and now my fiancé has the delight of living with the fallout of that shame. He’s precious and supportive and handles it beautifully, but I don’t think it’s what he necessarily intended on getting himself into, but bless him for taking it on. And he does his best to beat the monkey back with love and kind words as much as possible, but it’s a resilient b@st@rd…

Then there’s the frustration of seemingly not being able to lose past a certain point… the monkey loves that. “You pathetic loser” it chants, “you have to make yourself nauseous for a week with expensive medicine just to keep yourself from gaining weight…you can’t even lose beyond this”. Now, that I think of it, I think the monkey may be the devil on the shoulder you always see in cartoons, but he’s not a cartoon, he’s real very real. So now I have a 339 devil monkey hybrid on my back…metaphorically of course…but spiritually once again, very very real. Which is why, I suppose I have sunk so much money, time, and thought into this, it’s easy to get the frustration, but the real frustration comes from the fact that had my effort matched those things, I probably wouldn’t be at this plateau and personal crisis where I am fighting a metaphorical devil monkey. She’s not losing and therefore losing it, it would seem.

There’s something strange about me and weight loss. I am willing to endure some discomforts, but not others…I will undergo surgery, stick myself with needles, gag and be sick 24/7, but I won’t go for a walk? What’s the psychology behind that? I’m trying to figure it out. Maybe I’m lazy, maybe it’s imposter syndrome that a fatty like me is trying to pretend to be into fitness, maybe it just comes down to the fact that I don’t like to be sweaty or in that kind of pain. I’m trying to figure it out.

I can tell you however, the allure of bariatric surgery and injectables…they make you feel powerful. They make you for once feel as if you are not a slave to the food noise that plagues you on a daily basis. All of a sudden you have the will to say no or just have a little…I mean a dainty bird creature am I! The splendor in being peckish! The delightful wonder on people’s faces as you survive on so little. You are spectacular and soon to be skinny…until the meds start to wear off and there you are again…hungry and disgusted with yourself for being so. Welcome back 339 pound devil monkey…

Why not just inject again and keep the monkey at bay you ask? Because like I said it’s expensive and for me, unlike many other lucky folks, I have extreme reactions to any medication so I am struck with severe nausea and often very tired…albeit thinner than I would be without it, but it gets old. Plus, I genuinely love food. I like preparing it, sharing meals with loved ones, and going out to fun, new places to consume it. I am a Southern Baptist with a deep affection for Norah Ephron films wrought with delicious recipes, glamorized cooking scenes, and gorgeous ktichens…food is a part of my unique cultural identity. No drug, surgery, or self hate can change that.

So what can change? I don’t know at this point…I’m starting back at square one. I don’t want to stay where I am and be satisfied with just being obese sans the morbidly. I want to be healthier and happier in my body and in my mind. I want to be free of the extremely critical devil monkey and be able to enjoy now and again without overdoing it. I want to be one of those people who prioritzes exercise. Just do it you say? Well and you and Nike can kindly shut it, because yes, is that easy, but also no, if it were that easy America wouldn’t be clamoring for the juice that makes you just not want to eat. So now I’m on a deeply personal and introspective journey to figure out what it is that is my problem. Where does it come from? Where do I go? How do I get rid of the lazy and fat Cotton Eyed Joe I am…I want to be Healthy eyed Harriette. Actually, I hope no one ever calls me Harriette, not a great name, no offense to the Harriettes of the world. However, I do want to just feel better without the mean thoughts, without the constant bullying from the pretend devil monkey on my back, and I want to just do it.

Whether I will or not, I don’t know. I thought the shame of failure in front of the public eye with this blog would help, but no such luck…so instead, it’s just a good place to vent. A safe place to share, I hope maybe someone out there understands and feels comfort that you aren’t alone in feeling the way I do. Or maybe these are the insane rantings of a deeply troubled individual? Who’s to say? Just know before you call the white coats to take me away if it is in fact the latter, allow me sometime to at least lose a little so the jacket doesn’t have to be in plus size.

It’s nice to get back to writing, I don’t know that anyone will see this because I don’t think I will be sharing this one on social media, but if you stumble upon it, thanks for letting me get it out. The devil monkey doesn’t sound so loud or mean temporarily when he’s been called out in a semi-public forum. Let’s pray together that we can quiet him even more one day, and replace him with lovely thoughts and healthy habits that would be much more pleasing to the Lord and our loved ones who have to deal with the carnage the devil monkey leaves behind after one of his maulings. If you have read this, I love you and wish you luck on whatever journey you are on and hope whatever monkey is on your back gets knocked off and rolls down into a deep ravine never to return again. Best wishes my friends, xoxo Ashley.