The Skinny on Feeling Better--or the Lack Thereof

I had an interesting reaction to something someone said the other day. I saw one of my neighbors and she was complementing me on my weight-loss, which was nice to hear, but then she said something about how I must feel so much better. I just shrugged, but for some reason I felt myself getting defensive, especially when she seemed incredulous at my non-committal reply. I don’t know why it bugged me so much. My first thought was that I was annoyed because everyone just assumes that because you’re fat you must feel like crap all the time. Well the truth is, I don’t and I didn’t. I have an active job and I was working out regularly long before the surgery or the weight-loss. Other than very mild sleep apnea and occasionally getting a muscle spasm thing-y in my lower back (which I suffered from all last week--40 pounds lighter than the last time I had it) I’m healthy. I figured that the assumption that losing 40 pounds should somehow make me feel like new irked me.

In hind site, maybe the reason it bugged me so much is because a part of me had similar assumptions. Not so much about how I feel physically, but about how I feel mentally. Losing 40 pounds should feel better. I should feel better--about my weight, about my life…but I don’t. I know I’m not even a third of the way there yet and I know that losing the weight isn’t going to fix my life, but what if I never reach goal? What if I just lose the average 50 something percent of my excess weight? Will I feel any different then? And what if I do reach goal? Will that feel different? Or will I have only gotten rid of the symptom of my unhappiness and not the cause. Will it all be the same only in a different body? That’s a scary thought but a very real possibility.

I know that in large part, I use my weight as a defense mechanism. If I go to party or a bar, or any other social situation, and I’m ignored, well then it’s because everyone else is superficial and judgmental, or insert adjective that makes it not my fault here. See, the thing is people can’t reject me if they don’t know me and my fat makes it easy for people to not get to know me. By being overweight, I have an excuse not to get close to people—not to really let anyone in.

I hate to be one of those people who blame all their problems on their mother, but I do think she’s a large part of why I feel this way. You see, she’s manic depressive and throughout my life she has suffered through some major suicidal periods. Even when I was still just a kid she would tell me how she wanted to kill herself and how she had nothing in her life worth living for. It was this huge burden to have on my shoulders and in the long run I wound up resenting her for it. Now I think one of my biggest fears is to be like her. I’m afraid to let people get close to me because I’m afraid that I will be a burden to them. I hate to even ask people for favors like picking me up from the auto shop when I have to drop my car off for an oil change, let alone burdening them with the big stuff. So I don’t. I keep people at a distance so that I can’t hurt them like my mother hurt me. I keep them at a distance so that they never wind up resenting me like I resent her.

And the thing is, losing weight is not going to change that. It’s not going to make me feel better about opening myself up. It’s not going to suddenly make it easy for me to let people in and cure my loneliness. So when people ask me if I feel better, maybe it just bothers me because a part of me knows that the healing I need to do, isn’t coping with diabetes or hypertension, or any other problem that can be solved by simply losing weight. And since everyone who’s ever tried to lose any substantial amount of weight knows how un-simple it is, it’s hard to imagine what it’s going to take for me to “feel better.” And what if I never do?