Fat and Anxious

Pictured: My chonky Vinnie, who relates to my obesity dilemma

I was once one of those skinny bitches who thought she was fat.

I know now that body dysmorphia is real, because I was convinced I was chubby even when I was only 112 pounds. I’ve always had plenty of junk in the trunk, and when I sat down I had the smallest roll over my pants. I’m pretty sure it was all skin. My rolls now laugh at my tiny skin roll back then.

I was one of those people who could eat anything and not gain weight. But in my mid-twenties I started getting heavier. I chalked it up to aging and metabolism. My mom was a bit chubby, so I figured genetics had something to do with it as well. I tried diet, exercise, and diet pills, but nothing helped. I figured I was just doomed to be chubby.

I gained 70 pounds in a year. I married a man I didn’t really love because I figured I’m fat, this is the best I can get.

I decided I wanted babies, but after a year of trying and my periods completely stopping, I was forced to seek medical help. It was then, at 25, that I discovered I had hypothyroidism and polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS). After getting on medications for my newfound illnesses and strict diet and exercise (I didn’t want to be around my husband anyway, so I spent a lot of time jogging and going to the gym) I lost 50 pounds.

I was never able to have babies with him (even with fertility meds) and ended up getting divorced. I miraculously got pregnant with someone else, had two babies, and gained back most of the weight. I’ve struggled since then to lose it again and have since been diagnosed with multiple mental health illnesses, as well as a number of other physical illnesses.

My endocrinologist has told me time and time again that PCOS is one of the hardest illnesses to lose weight with. He’s prescribed me countless medications to help me lose weight. Most didn’t do a damn thing. One helped, but also nearly caused my kidneys to shut down. All the meds were expensive.

Now, as a single mother who works full-time and has no help maintaining the house, I have no time to exercise and no money to buy healthy food. I so desperately want to be thin again. I look at myself in the mirror and am disgusted by what I see, but there is so little that I can do about it.

Dieting is expensive and exhausting. ADHD makes following recipes difficult, anxiety convinces me that whatever I make will suck anyway, and that’s when I have the money to actually buy all of the healthy ingredients. Never mind the fact that I have two and a half hours between getting home and putting the kids to bed on the weeks I have them – that leaves very little time for cooking and cleanup.  

Don’t even mention exercise. Nowhere in that two and a half hours is there time for that, even if I did have the energy for it. All those illnesses I have leave me exhausted 75% of the time.

So I get anxious and depressed and stuff my face with cheap processed food, because what else is there to do?

To be fair - I'm close to the size I was when I married my second husband because I thought I couldn't do any better. And yet here I am, deeply in love, and so very happy. So take that, body dysmorphia.