madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Stretch pants September 22, 2003 Stretch pants. I hate them. Sure - they are comfortable and stretchy and the elastic waistband doesn’t seem to care how much pie you eat on top of a big meal. But that’s the point – they’ve got no conscious, and consequently neither do I whenever I wear them. Over the course of my life, stretch pants have been both the bane of my existence and my saving grace. They’ve been the cause of teasing from other jean-wearing peers as a teenager and the product of snickers from partygoers at the bar as an adult. They’ve left me unfashionable, fat and out of place at an upscale restaurant. I was un-hip and un-cool in my 20’s…the very time I’m supposed to feel hip and cool and young. One of my proudest moments, after losing about 90 pounds, was ditching my stretch pants for the button-up kind. I bought my first pair of jeans and some cargo pants and wore them proudly like a badge of honor. In public I felt a little more normal, a little younger, a little more hip. At work I finally started to feel my age – 20 years younger than everyone else I worked with. I bought new clothes, clothes that were in fashion, clothes that flattered and had some style too. I came into work looking like a million bucks for about 6 months and my stretch pants retired into a box for storage. I never looked back. Well, that’s not true. I did look back a couple of times, just long enough to consider giving my stretch pants away. I had given all the rest of my fat clothes away with the exception of a few empire-waist dresses that still looked cute on me. But for some reason, I never did give away my stretch pants. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was my thrifty nature kicking in, as most of them still fit – the miraculous way that stretch pants still fit after losing (or gaining) 90 pounds. Or perhaps it was my psyche – unable to believe I would never need them again, unable to believe that I had lost weight permanently and I’d never gain it back. In three months I have gained 20.5 pounds. At first, my pants were simply tighter and a bit more uncomfortable, but totally wearable. And then they got tighter…and tighter. And then I had to stop wearing most of them because they wouldn’t zip up. When my under-wire bras began to cut deep into my sides, I dug out my old sports bra and reluctantly wore those again. (they makes my breasts look droopy and flat and not curvy at all) I’ve been limping by with very few clothes lately, mostly my empire waist dresses and sweat pants and a few skirts with elastic waistbands. But up until last week, I had even been able to fit into two pairs of pants that were baggy on me at my lowest weight so I wore those. But this weekend I tried those on, and they wouldn’t button. So today, with much swallowed pride, I dragged out the dreaded stretch pants box and put a pair on. I’m wearing them now, in all their black, slimming, comfortable glory. And I am so sad. It has been a difficult day for me. No, it has been a difficult year, two years. I don’t know which came first, the chicken or the egg – but this depression is kicking my ass. And the more weight I gain, the more depressed I am, the more I eat, the worse I feel physically and mentally, and then the cycle starts all over again. I eat to numb, to comfort. I even eat in anger and frustration. And some days are simply a smudge, a blur of eating and exhaustion and self-loathing and stomach aches. Other days I am a vision of self-control and awareness, only to blow it in the middle of the night with empty calories. I thought maybe exercise would get me out of this funk, so I started my “30-days of exercise” plan that I’ve used in the past to get motivated. For those of you who don’t know, it is a simple plan based on the idea that it takes 30 days to form a habit. So I exercise every single day for 30 days without defining the quantity or quality, and it usually results in me getting back in the habit of exercise. So far, I have 5 days under my belt….a drop in the hat really, but it’s a start. Of course, even I know that exercise doesn’t stop the pounds from piling on when you’re still consuming 2700 calories a day. I’ve got to get my diet under control AND exercise before I can even hope to lose. It all seems so intimidating. I keep dwelling on the fact that I’ve gained 20 ½ pounds…I’m blown away by it. I keep remembering at 263 I felt so huge, so overweight. But now 263 seems like a million miles away, another galaxy, another solar system from my reality. And in the meantime, I've got to sit around in these stretch pants as a reminder that I've really fucked up. 12:11 p.m. - September 23, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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