Like Violet Beauregarde, but not blue

Body image. Health. Weight. Fitness. BMI. Body type. Obesity. Dreams. Reality. Effort. Blame. Failure.

This is the vocabulary of my daily life. There are certainly parts of my life that don't make me cringe, but how I look and what I have become are always within two or three thought-layers of my consciousness. That is all day, every day, regardless of how critical the focus of the top layer of conscious thought. Are my priorities misplaced? Probably not. My insecurities don't prevent me from meeting any obligations, nor do I neglect any personal or professional responsibilities. I just feel bad as I carry out the duties of my life.

May day, May day. May is in distress. Muscle relaxers seem to trigger depression and amplified self-loathing. Without them, though, I'm a noncompliant patient and I don't want to disappoint the doctors who are cashing in on the puzzling battle with my chronic pain.

The Internet is crammed with information about body size, health, ideal weight, and all sorts of calculators. I stick to the credible, vetted sites for my health information. Knowing that the information is correct often makes me feel even worse about the answers I find.

I weighed myself this week. Generally, I don't weigh myself anymore because the experience usually leaves me in a deep, dark, terrible mood. When my husband hears me moving the scale into position, he'll call out, "Don't do it! It never ends well and you'll just end up miserable!!"

He's right, of course, but about once a month (usually less), I want to know just how much I should hate myself.

According to the government's health information, my body's frame is on the border of small and medium. Parts of me are very skinny--my ankles, wrists and fingers. Even at my all-time heaviest (now), my wedding rings spin around on my finger. The rings are size 5.75.

Small-to-medium frame. Five feet, two inches (almost). As of this week, 190.2 pounds.

Just fucking shoot me now. Please.

My husband (we're calling him Frank for blogging purposes) was shocked by this news. He said, "May, there is no way. You do not look like you weigh 190 pounds." Thank you, Mr. 152.

Don't ask me why, but I own three scales and all gave me the same number. According to the scale in the doctor's office, I weigh 195. I almost threw up. It was touch-and-go there for a few minutes. When I weighed myself at home a couple of weeks later, I did not speak for almost two hours. I barely spoke for two days. I am so shallow that this weight revelation started me considering the value of staying alive.

I know how to eat. In fact, I can spout off calorie counts for most foods, along with fat content and fiber, and in many cases, where they rank on the glycemic index. I am an expert on food and diet and I choose my foods accordingly. It bears mentioning that I do not enjoy eating. There is not one thing that goes into my mouth without guilt and excruciating analysis. My conclusion is always the same: "May, you do not deserve to eat this food. You did not earn it."

Anyone who spends time with me will tell you one of two things about me and food: I don't overeat and I don't eat crap. OK, I do eat dessert every day. It's the only thing that brings some happiness to my warped world of food. Dessert might be half of a chocolate bar, or a small dish of low-fat ice cream, or two cookies (not three). There was a time in my life when I ate the whole damn pint of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey, and weighed almost 50 pounds less than I do now.

When I was enrolled in the exercise research study last year, the lead researcher did a battery of metabolic measurement tests. The results were so extremely astounding, he did them twice. He said that in all of his many years of doing this work, he had never met anyone with a metabolism as efficient as mine. As in slow. He said it was akin to someone who was starving in the Kalahari.

No matter how little I've eaten or how much I've exercised (obsessively at times), I've never been thin. Had I known that all of that dieting and exercise would eventually be completely meaningless, I would have loosened up a bit.

On the upside, my blood pressure is low, my cholesterol is essentially fine, my blood sugar is normal, my thyroid is functioning, my resting heart rate is about 60, and my recovery heart rate is good. I had a DEXA scan bone density test several years ago and was told I had such dense bone structure, there was virtually no chance I would get osteoporosis--ever. According to the NIH calculators, my odds of getting breast cancer are less than one-half of one percent, and my risk of getting heart disease in the next 10-15 years is less than one percent. So, I'm healthy, although any doctor will dispute that this is even possible for someone with a BMI of 35.3. I would like to see that BMI come down to between 18.5 and 19, possibly a bit less.

Here is what the primary care doctors have always missed with me: I couldn't care less about being a healthy weight. It's all about looks. People like us when we're skinny. It brings praise and approval and is perceived as a positive indication of self-discipline and self-control.

If I gain another 25 pounds, I qualify for gastric bypass surgery. At this point, I would settle for being able to keep my daily calorie intake at between 700-900 calories per day. That's half of what I consume now. It's not a discipline problem, it's a more biological issue. I get hungry. I become nauseated. My many medications churn up a plethora of unpleasant side-effects when I don't eat.

My well-documented and scrutinized past tells me hours of daily exercise probably won't make a dent. It will only make me dizzy-headed with hunger.

I feel so bad today. Sad, anxious, ugly, embarrassed, defeated, and depressed. I am tired of feeling this way and of being broke, obese, sick, in pain, lonely, and in a constant medication fog.

I'm still not clear on what part of this is worth living for. At all. The nature of hope comes from an innate belief that change is not only possible, but probable. I don't see those possibilities right now.

Bodies I admire:
Kelly Ripa in those Electrolux appliance commercials
Keira Knightly
Sarah Jessica Parker
Victoria Beckham
Angelina Jolie
Eva Longoria
Kristin Chenoweth