I’ve gained 25 pounds since last July. Twenty. Five. Pounds. Even worse? I’ve gained 45 pounds in two years. Forty. Five. Fricking. Pounds.
I went from a six to a I’msureashellnottelling.
My husband has a fat wife.
My kids have a fat mom.
The worse part is…I have a fat me. I’m stuck in a body that is under siege by fricking thyroid warfare. And no matter how I limit the carbs or sugar or calories, or not…
I gain weight.
I just want to wave the white flag or cry. But that would probably make me gain weight too.
Today, it’s in the 80’s. Unseasonably warm and absolutely gorgeous. I went to just THROW ON a shirt and a pair of capris from last summer. So that I could play outside with my son. And they don’t fit. The sleeves are made for arms, not thighs…which is what the size of my upper arms have become. My pants don’t fit. And I won’t even tell you what size they are.
My Spanx don’t fit. My bras don’t fit. It’s a good thing I don’t wear underwear because I guarantee that those wouldn’t fit either.
I’m a gelatinous mess.
I couldn’t be more miserable being me.
My husband tries to make me feel better by reassuring me that it’s nothing I’m doing. It doesn’t matter that I know that. It doesn’t matter that he still loves me and wants to be with me.
Because, I still have to catch a glimpse of myself in the steam filled mirror when I exit the shower. I still have to try to maintain a facade of confidence when I put on my clothes that are not hiding the craters and dimples in my legs and arms. I still have to be insecure and worried that people are snickering at me and wondering how HE is with ME. I still have to be me trapped in this disaster. And if I am not comfortable with what I see, how can I feel confident thinking that no one else sees me that way? I can’t. I feel like I should wear a t-shirt that explains “It’s Not Me, It’s My Thyroid”.
It’s not me. It’s my thyroid. It sounds so lame. An ill-fitting excuse. Yet, I have to wear it until some sort of control can be found.
Ironically, a very good friend of mine has Graves Disease too. And we were lamenting over the fact that most people get smaller because of this. But we haven’t. We are both part of a small statistic that gains weight from hyper-thyroid. Great. Awesome. Outstanding. But at least we know we aren’t alone in this.
In the meantime, I’m trapped in this uninvited and unwanted body that doesn’t feel like it is part of me but yet, is tagging along everywhere I go. It’s my own personal third wheel. That unwanted friend that annoys everyone.
I really, really wish it would take a hint and leave…and take those 45 or 50 pounds with it.