resolve: i want MY body back!

I look in the mirror these days and I am frightened at what stares back at me. PCOS really wreaks havoc on the body but, in truth, I know I haven't done much to stave off its effects. I have always, always been heavy. I remember being horribly self-concious as an early teen because I could easily fit into my mom's size 14 jeans. None of my friends could even dream of fitting into their mom's jeans. But, even being as overweight as I was, I always managed to carry my weight well. In fact, I've always been told that until recently.

I have horrible body image issues. They started at a very young age. I've always been quite round in my midsection, even as a young child. I remember my step-sister teasing me and calling me 'rolley polley' and 'fat back'. I don't have many memories from my childhood. Abuse, trama, yada yada. I blocked the majority of it out, I imagine, for self preservation sake. But I do have a few choice memories, most of which aren't very pleasant. One particular memory I have is of a camping trip we took in the summer of 1989. Or maybe it was 1990. I would've been 8 or 9 years old. My mom bought my sister and I matching bikini swimsuits. Hers was purple polka dots, mine was red. I distinctly remember feeling extremely awkward in my bikini. I remember thinking how inexplicably round my tummy was in comparison to my [six years older] sister's. Of course I didn't have boobs yet; another source of self-conciousness. To be honest, I was probably a [mostly] regular looking eight (or nine) year old. But I couldn't help but feel ugly; fat; different. I have been criticizing and scrutinizing my poor body ever since.

Things culminated in Junior High. Not only did I feel different, I was different. All of my friends and both of my sisters were shaped nicely with perky breasts and hour glass figures. I was cursed with broad shoulders, breasts that seemed to literally repel each other (I've never had much in the way of cleavage without some serious push-up bra action), a flabby, protruding stomach, and a double chin. I had a horrible wardrobe because of my size and shape. This was long before Plus Size was a common household term, mind you, and as a result, I bought most, if not all of my jeans from the men's section. I went through High School suffering the stigma of being overweight. I never dated; I was never asked to go to any dances. By my senior year I was somewhere around a size 20 and weighed in the 240 range.

In the years following High School I resolved to lose the weight that was holding me hostage in my own skin. I set a goal to get down to 145 pounds (my health weight for my height and bone structure) and I vowed that once the scale boasted that glorious number that I would finally be happy. It took me four years to do it but I finally did get the scale to say 145. Try as I may, I still couldn't force my brain to recognize the acheivement.



That was me at 145 pounds. A healthy, reasonable weight; wearing a clothing size FINALLY in the single digits.

I thought I was fat. Not just a little overweight or pudgy or even just a little soft and out of shape. No, I was fat and I was sure of it.

Looking in the mirror today it is abundantly clear that this was completely ludicrous; bordering on completely insane, even.

I really have no one but myself to blame for gaining every pound of weight I lost back; and then some. PCOS definitely plays a large factor. It's hard to get and stay motivated to lose weight when you put in an immense amount of effort and barely see any results. The perpetuating cycle of insulin resistance causing weight gain and making weight loss difficult but being worsened by being overweight is proof positive that Mother Nature can be a cruel, sadistic bitch. But I am determined to beat the bitch at her own game. I'm not sure how I'm going to do it, but I know that I absolutely MUST get my body back.

I will stop at nothing.