My body, my struggles

I've just done something that always sends a sense of terror through me whenever it comes up, I stepped on the scale. I'll be honest, after the results, I am feeling even more terror. My weight has always been a sensitive subject for me, though up until the last few years, has never actually been out of control. I'm trying to think of how I got to this place, but I know I have to regain control.

To say that I was a picky eater when I was a kid would be a gross understatement. From a very early age, I hated meat. I considered myself a vegetarian before I even understood what it was. A part of it could have been psychological, as I had a serious case of salmonella when I was a toddler. But it was more than that, I hated the taste, the texture, I just didn't like it.

Just as strong as my love of meat was, I had an equal love of pasta. I suppose in a way, it made me feel a connection with my Italian dad who I had lost around the same time that I was sick with salmonella. As for the other components of the food pyramid, sometimes I ate it, more often though I didn't. The funny thing is that there was no particular reason for it. I was seven years old; weight wasn't something that I ever thought about.

Around this time, I became very sick. I was coughing a lot with a shortness of breath. My grandma took me to the doctor who diagnosed me with the flu. This diagnosis would last a year. Each time my grandma took me back as I was steadily growing worse, I would get another prescription of cough syrup and antibiotics. Eventually I found it difficult to even walk across the room without losing my breath. I never felt like eating. The only things that I could keep down was double noodle soup and stewed potatoes.

Mampau and Daddy Clyde adopted me when I was eight as my grandma's health took a turn for the worse. The first thing that was done was to find me a children's doctor that was a specialist. I was incredibly underweight and had a third of a lung that was keeping me alive. Some blood work and other tests came with a final diagnosis, I had asthma. I was quickly put on steroids to strengthen my lungs.

During the time of my illness, I had gotten used to eating only a couple of things. I had a habit of taking food and hiding it. I would hide it under my bed, chairs, behind doors, even behind plants or under towels. The only thing that I didn't take into consideration was that it would stink after a while. Plus, eventually it would be found pretty easily. I don't know why I did it. I wasn't afraid of gaining weight, I simply didn't want to eat.

After a few years, my eating habits became healthier and my lungs became stronger. I was still thin, but I was eating like I was supposed to. I still loved my pasta, but I ate veggies, fruit, and even meat in small portions. The funny thing is that people would see me and assume that I had an eating disorder. Nobody knew about my past eating patterns, they just saw that I was thin. At restaurants and cookouts, people would pile my plate with food in an effort to encourage me. They were shocked when I would eat it all.

When I was about nineteen, my weight went up to 120lbs. I noticed that my stomach wasn't quite as flat as it had always been. I was mortified. In my head, I may as well have been 300 lbs. I was mortified. Within a year though, I had my son, so I gained more weight. Over the next decade, I lost all of it, and gained it all back.

I'm now quickly approaching forty. Right now, I'm at the biggest I've ever been. I've recently been diagnosed with a thyroid condition that has me all out of sorts. I see women who are young and thin and feel completely comfy in a bikini. I dread the thought of even thinking of picking out a swimsuit. It's depressing. Some say that it's all a part of growing older. Somehow, I refuse to believe that. In my heart, I feel young and energetic. I just have to get my body to get on the same page.

I will have to write a second part to this when I get a little further on my journey. So for now, I say to be continued...