Numbers, Bah

So I’ve just finished logging all of my food and exercise for the day with the app I use and I’m so pleased! My net calorie intake for this week is up almost 50 calories from last week. That means I’m making progress.

I’m trying to counteract the intense body dysmorphia issues with the fact that I’m making progress. It’s hard when I see one thing in the mirror, see another thing with the numbers and then feel something entirely different. I suppose that’s part of this process.

There’s that saying that it takes twelve weeks for the world at large to notice body changes. If only that were the case for people who struggle with this disorder. This week, since I’ve been eating more calories, I’ve felt like a stuffed pig. Absolutely disgusting. Bloated and gross. Thing is, I know I don’t really look like that … but it’s mind over matter in so many ways.

I bought a new dress for Grandma’s funeral, mainly because the standard funeral dress I have doesn’t fit anymore. It’s much too big, and hangs on me in weird ways. At the store, I pulled some black size two dresses, and was so pissed when they didn’t fit. They fit in the waist, but not in the ass (thanks squats) or in the bust (no thanks to anything) and left me feeling really shitty. I’ve never been the kind of broad who cares about the number on a garment – sizes are different based on designer, and who fucking cares anyway. But what the fuck, man? If a two doesn’t fit in the right way, I know a four will be too big and a zero too small. I’m in that strange in between where my body, because of the recomp I’m trying for, is shaped strangely. I finally found a dress; it’s a size two, and it fits … okay.

The whole process left me feeling like shit. At the gym, I went extra hard, trying to combat what I was feeling with pushing my body. It was a great session, but I slipped on a kettlebell snatch and bruised the shit out of my forearm. The bruise is going to stay with me for a while – it’s only pink now, and I know it’s going to blossom into a deep orchid before too long. Maybe I’ll use the mark as a reminder that my body is not a size, or a number, or anything except for what I see it to be.