Things you couldn't know

I want you to imagine a world where you have only eaten soup.

Soup is good. Delicious, even.

You have eaten soup for your entire life. You can talk to people about food, because you have eaten soup three times a day. In certain situations, you can even talk to people for quite a long time about soup. You can share it with others and make it for others. Dinner at your house isn't weird, because you can always make soup. You can read books about the wonders of soup, and you can agree with everything in those books.

Soup is tasty and filling. You could be happy eating it.

And in this imaginary world where you have only eaten soup, there is no way you could ever tell anyone that you would like chocolate ice cream. It has never occurred to you that food could be cold. You don't know sweetness exists. You could never tell anyone that you want your food to hold its shape or taste like chocolate.

No, you'd never know that until the day you had chocolate ice cream.

Don't worry; no, no, no, no

My life is changing. It is now a constant swirl of highs and lows. It is kind of disorienting. And the whole thing is rather mind-boggling.

For many years, things have been…well…steady. Not bad. But not what I would call good, either. At least not now that I can actually see what "good" might be.

I am finally in a place where I can see "good" in the distance. It is on the other shore, once I get through the highs and lows.

And once I get everyone else through the highs and lows. I have had several moments of thinking that others' lows might wash me away.

I am an extrovert; I love other people. Individuals, of course: there are people I love madly with varying types of madness. But I also love people in general. I never want anyone to be hurt. I never want anyone to be upset with me. I never want the rivers to stop running with chocolate. None of these things are possible. I still desperately hope I can make them all happen.

For many years, I have done the things I supposed would make others happy. I told myself that I was happy, too. And several times in the last week, I have broken down and sobbed at the stark contrast between "steady" and "good". Always at rather inconvenient times, of course. It is a good thing I am also loved madly with varying types of madness.

Carry that weight a long time

I get on the scale every morning. 

I started doing this when I switched to "maintenance" mode after losing a third of my body weight. I wanted to keep an eye on things so I would never step on the scale and be shocked to find I'd gained twenty pounds without realizing it. 

I decided that 130 was a good weight for me and that 2 pounds was a good daily fluctuation. 132 was OK; so was 128. 133, on the other hand, was a problem. I was fat when I weighed 133 pounds.

This was fine. 

One day, I stepped on the scale and I was 127 pounds. I told myself this was just as much of a problem as 133, and I dutifully ate a bit more to get myself back to 128. But secretly, I was pleased. 

A few months later, I stepped on the scale and noticed that I was 126 pounds. This, I decided, was fine. In fact, I should adjust my expectations: 130 was just a bit too high. 127 was a good weight for me and it would be easy to fluctuate between 125 and 130. I was fat when I weighed 131 pounds.

I kept getting on the scale. 

About a year later, I noticed I was 124 pounds. This, I told myself, was a problem. I wasn't well at 124; I was too thin. I needed to be 127 pounds. Time to eat more. But secretly, I was pleased. 

This went on for at least a year. But one day I decided that 124 might actually be a bit too heavy. I should weigh 123 pounds. Yes. That would make a lot of sense. 123 was a good weight for me and it would be easy to fluctuate between 120 and 125. 126 was a bit too high. I was fat when I weighed 126 pounds. 

I kept getting on the scale. 

I figured it would be a good idea to start tracking my weight a bit more formally. I'd always just looked at the number, noted that it was within my two-pound comfort zone, and gone on with my day. But clearly, I needed to have a chart or something. That would make it easier for me to reassure myself that the two-pound fluctuations were normal, part of a trend that I could anticipate. It wasn't healthy for me to think of my former "skinny" weight as my new "fat" weight. 

I kept getting on the scale.

In March, I weighed 122 pounds when I went on vacation. I got home a week later and discovered I was 116 pounds. This alarmed me: 116 pounds was too thin, and it had happened far too quickly. I needed to do something about that. But secretly, I was pleased.

And one day, I decided that it wasn't too thin. In fact, it would be easy to fluctuate between 115 and 120 pounds. 121 was a bit too high. I was fat when I weighed 121 pounds. 

The funny thing is that I never thought of myself as fat when I really was fat. And now that I'm not, I can never be thin enough. 

I know all of the right things to tell myself. But I clearly have a problem.