As of this morning I weigh 114.2lbs.

I weighed 120lbs in early July. And 134 in January (and the entire year before that).

Watching my weight trickle down (I was going to say slowly, but it isn’t really slow at all. I’ve dropped a pound a week for the past month.) is hard enough. Getting complements on looking thin is even worse. I don’t want to be losing weight. I want to be healthy. I want to be fit and strong, not thin and weak.

I mean, yes, I am not bloated and distended like I am pregnant anymore, and I am glad about that. But I want my stomach to look flat because I have good abdominal muscles, not because it’s slowly sinking into itself.

I’m tired and frustrated today. And I really wish my stomach would let me just fucking eat (or drink!) something without being in stupid pain or incredibly nauseous.

One thought on “Weight

  1. Hi Britni, don’t really understand the wear and tear of chronic illness. My bad heart is kind of a weight to carry but it tends to be either rapidly on its way to stopping for a rebuild or doing what it can like my old Datsun pick-up(s) did. (Actually had two of them which gave a sense of confidence and practice switching license plates before work in the dark. Do girls learn these skills? Never mind).

    Wonder where fatigue comes from? Understand the part about debilitating illness and malfunctioning or missing organs throwing things off balance but know when anxiety hits I just want to hide from its out-of-control screeching. To be left in peace, to rest.

    At the beginning of chemo in 2014 the first mix was way too strong and my whole body was trying everything to flush it out. Oddest thing about it was my desperation was interpreted by my “care-givers” as a selfish lack of appreciation.

    Anyway, I’m sorry you are losing weight but it’s cool you you don’t feel the need to be polite about it. There has to be some kind of crappy value in living with things other people prefer to not even think about.

    Thanks for the link to My Spoons.

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