I think that before anything moves forward, you and I have to agree on a certain level of honesty.
Or, in this case, the one who needs to be honest here is me.
Besides, who else is here but us and as far as I can tell, you are as real as can be and at the same time, there really is no one else here but me.
If that makes sense.
Did I ever tell you how much I hated the scale?
I have been on both sides of the spectrum when it comes to weight. I was way too thin as a boy. I was thin as a young adult. I never had a desirable body. I was never fit.
I was never strong. I was never tough either.
I was crazy maybe.
But I was never tough.
I was told that I had a fast metabolism. I was told that I would miss my metabolism when I grew older.
And I ate. And I ate.
And I ate as much as I could but I never gained any weight.
I never went to the gym because I was always too skinny and too insecure and more than anything, I was too frightened to be looked at and laughed at while moving minimal weights and still struggling as if the weights were heavy.
I can tell you that whomever it was who told me that I would miss my metabolism when it was gone was right.
I don’t know when it was. And I don’t know when the switch took place.
I don’t know if this was gradual or at some point, I woke up and realized that the scale had tilted in another direction.
I never liked getting on the scale.
I never liked the faces people made at me when discovering my weight. For example, I was a young man in a bad situation. I was sick from a self-inflicted poison that was sweeping through the nation. And yes, I was part of a narcotic epidemic which has been plaguing people for centuries now.
Finally and fortunately, I found myself in a place that could help me.
They forced me on the scales so they could record my weight during my medical intake.
This was early September, 1989.
I weighed 80lbs. . .
I used to try and hide my body as best as I could. I would try to hide my wiry frame. In fact, I was too ashamed to buy new pants or a new belt, so I would tie my belt loops together so that I could evenly tighten my jeans without swimming in them or looking like someone needed to staple my pants to my ass to keep them from falling off of me.
Like I said . . .
I was sick.
Months later, I entered a long term treatment facility. This, of course, was after two short-term stays. One of them was for 30 days and the other was supposed to be for 90 days, but there was a better placement for me on a farm which was farther away and deep in the mountains and woods of Upstate, New York.
I was not sold on the idea of sobriety and nor was I sold on the thought that I would never drink or get high again.
I suppose I knew that certain drugs would lead me down the same path. However, I thought that maybe I could somehow become a civilian and drink or smoke weed every so often.
You know, like normal people do. . .
But that is an entry for another time.
They put me on a scale.
I weighted 110lbs
I never liked stepping on the scale
I hated the brutal honesty and the red numbers in a black field that read my weight.
Or more accurately, I saw the number as a mathematical representation which acted as the tally and the sum of my poorest decisions.
Fast forward to my older adult life –
I can say the scale and I had different disputes.
I remember a moment of realization. This was the time when I saw a photograph of someone who I failed to recognize. I wondered who it was and then after thinking to myself, “what a fat fuck that guy is,” I became aware and subject to the realization that went, “Good God, that fat fuck is me!”
Goodbye fast metabolism.
Hello high blood pressure.
Hello big belly gut and fat neck.
Hello type-two diabetes.
I have often seen people who are either overweight or unkempt or somehow, they slid away from the wealth of self-care. I have witnessed people who stepped away from better hygiene or clean living. I can say that I have seen people and wondered how they let themselves get like that. And then it was my turn.
It was my turn to face the shame and the painful realization that I was the main contributor to my own demise.
I have to say, moments of realization are often jaw dropping and painful.
I agree.
I do not believe this happens far and few, in-between and moreover, I believe we all go through moments of awareness.
I believe we are all subject to a brutal awakening that shakes us to the core. And yes, we all come to an understanding that wakes us up, hopefully with the drive, intention, and the rally to make a change and improve.
Everyone has their own downfalls and no matter how high anyone flies.
No one escapes the feeling of being humbled and brought down to size.
I have met with great athletes who sat at the top levels of their sport. I have had the chance to speak with people who competed against the greatest in the world.
I have spoken with great fighters who believed in themselves and believed they were unbeatable.
And to them, they were unbeatable, until they were beaten.
I have seen losses like this kill people in a figurative sense and the results of this were leading up to an actual and physical death.
Folks . . .
We have to stop treating the heart attack after it happens.
I have gained and lost and I have been high on the tops of the world and yes, I have fallen from grace to the point where I was forced to get back up and learn to fly again.
Intellectually, we know what to do.
However, emotional thinking leads us toward distractions and confusions.
I understand that oftentimes, life’s improvements come with application struggles.
For example, my first trip into weightloss was hard. I lost 60lbs in just under six months.
I worked hard.
I ate right.
I exercised and I tracked my food.
I did very well . . .
Until the pandemic hit. The entire world was sick and there was a virus that was killing people. There were talks about vaccinations. There were political debates between the left and the right side of our government. There was too much separation and too many things that were out of my control.
I refer to my weight gain at the time and call this my Pandemic pounds.
All I can say was Covid was a bitch!
Once I recognized the Pandemic pounds were real; I noticed that I gained most of the weight back.
I was faced with another realization.
I did it again.
Why?
How did I let myself get like this?
How did I gain nearly all of my weight back?
How?
I know how.
I slipped back into old ways of thinking and old behaviors.
And was the change or the transformation subtle?
I assume it was.
I ate my way into becoming diabetic.
I had to go on medication for my glucose and my blood pressure. I had to watch my cholesterol.
I had to change my routine again
And here’s the bitch about it.
I lost weight before but somehow, it seemed as if I had forgotten what to do.
I can say the most difficult part of any climb from a personal grave is hardest at the beginning.
Keep working
Let the chips fall where they may.
Do not give up.
Do not give in to distractions.
Do not let yourself be discouraged.
I had to relearn these things
And too, I had to relearn these things in other regards.
This is not just a formula to help promote change when it comes to eating habits or exercise regiments. This works with life. This works when you need to make a change.
Keep going.
Do not judge yourself so harshly.
Keep swinging and let the chips fall where they may.
If nothing else, this is exactly what I am doing
Right now!
The Written Addiction 