...I ate lunch with a couple of friends (at a Mediterranean restaurant - ate very sensibly!) and got some stuff accomplished I had been putting off. My friend and I decided to go to a job fair tomorrow in Columbia and I was actually feeling a little ok about it. Then I started looking at the websites of the employers who would be there.
Nothin'. I'm either not qualified or overqualified. There's nothing I'm looking for.
I decided to press on, go ahead and pick something out to wear anyway, I'd go get some exposure, maybe leave my resume with some hospitals and organizations. I'd make the best of it.
Then I went to my closet.
The things I had in mind that I *could* wear.....*DIDN'T* fit. It's been almost a year since I wore interview-wear, and the jacket doesn't fit. I don't even have button-up business shirts that fit. I might've lost a tiny amount of weight since August, enough to make my current jeans fit differently, but that doesn't help the weight gain I obviously suffered between last March (when the stuff fit) and August (when I bought my current jeans).
So now I'm uber-depressed and uber-pissed, contemplating not going tomorrow since no matter what I scrounge up to wear won't look "right" since it wasn't the professional outfit I had in mind. But for a split second in the throes of anger, I had this backlash emotion where I wanted to take all that anger and use it as motivation - the wrong kind. I wanted to stop eating until the clothes fit. I wanted to go out and run circles around the block until my ankles gave out or I fell unconscious. Even thinking of that stuff is unhealthy, but the unhealthiest part is that I sometimes really wish I could do that sort of thing. I know, eating disorders are nothing to take lightly, and I really don't wish I had one. I guess I just wish I had the self-control some others do.
I'm angry that I've let myself go. Even in March when I bought the suit jacket and pants, I thought to myself, "you look like The Fridge and nobody will want to admit you/hire you if you can't even take care of yourself. FIX IT." Yet that obviously didn't work. I can't blame myself too harshly because I was still battling crippling depression and a thesis to boot, but I can't play victim either.
The hardest part of this weight loss thing is having patience. It was easy to put this weight on, and it's going to be murder to get it off. I did this to myself. I'm to blame. But I can't punish myself so that I'll deem myself unworthy of effort - and that's what I'm starting to slip into. I've waited my life away. I've turned away opportunities because I was too fat. I've been too scared to live for so long because I was afraid of looking stupid in front of others. Fat girls don't have any place on ski slopes. Fat girls have no business on boats. Fat girls don't deserve to go out with skinny friends. Fat girls play wingman - they make their skinny friends look better by comparison. My entire life has been full of self talk like this. I have to realize I'm worth saving in order to put effort into saving myself. I don't want to waste any more of my life waiting until I lose weight. I always say "I'll do that when I've lost the weight" - for close to 20 years I've been putting off my life "until I lose the weight" but there's obviously been something missing because I never got around to losing it.
My goal for tomorrow, whether I make it to the career fair or not, is to do a Week 2 jogging podcast from my Couch-to-5k program. I did 3 days of Week 1 (though not all in one week) and that was a week ago. I'll try Week 2 and see if I can handle it, then start back up from there.
I feel like there's a merry-go-round spinning in front of me, and I am trying to get on even though it's going too fast. I need to lose weight. I need to get a job. I need to get back on my feet in order to crawl away from this depressive "oh woe is me" trap. It's a cycle of no job - too fat - depressed - sit in my room not exercising or looking for jobs. I desperately want to help myself get better (job-wise and weight-wise) but I'm standing there staring at this carousel going way too fast. I know it will hurt to jump on - I'll run into something and bang up my knee - but once I'm on it won't be so bad.
The more I thought about that metaphor, the less it made sense, but fuck it...that was the first thing that came to my head, and I'm tired, and I need to go to bed.