June 15, 2014
Yesterday I found a scale in the house. I was really, really tempted to step on it. But it's been so long and I've been doing so well lately. I've decided not to give in to the temptation and after quite some time, I found the strength to leave the room without weighing myself.
But that was in the morning and I couldn't stop thinking about it ever since. I was supposed to do many things yesterday, but all I could really do was to just sit there and think about the scale and the scary numbers that once used to define me. I tried to convince myself that I didn't really want to know, but the truth is, I wanted to know more than anything.
And so the afternoon rolled around and I still hadn't stepped on the scale. I was starting to feel really confident and proud of myself, but then my grandmother came for a visit and asked me how much weight I have lost, just like that.
Have I? I didn't even notice. I feel fatter than ever, really, why would she ask me that? Maybe I should step on the scale after all, just to check, just to see for myself.
I knew it was wrong, but curiosity got the best of me and I returned to the scale. Heart racing, knees shaking, lips trembling, I stepped on. And it wasn't good. I mean, I obviously have lost some weight (7 kg/15 lbs since my last official weigh in at the doctor's office in April). But the number was still so high it made me cry. I think I mentally gained about 30 pounds right in that instant, because when I looked into the mirror, I swear a much fatter me was looking back at me than before the weigh-in.
And now I'm tempted to step on that scale several times a day, preferably every hour, just to see if the numbers change in any way. I feel like I need to lose so much weight, like it's somehow vitally important. I cannot think straight, I don't know what to do. I'm trying to convince myself that I am more important than the number, that the number doesn't define me, but it's all I ever knew.
Confessed by Meg at 10:14 AM