There ain’t nothin’ more powerful than the odor of mendacity…You can smell it. It smells like death.
— From “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” by Tennessee Williams
Weight: 248.3 lbs.
Glucose Reading: 129
I’ve always been a really good liar. Not #45 good, but close enough. I’ve been carrying this guilt about lying for most of my adult life. Time to dump it all into the cosmic landfill once and for all.
From a very young age, I’ve quite adept in manipulating the truth to my will. It’s this choir boy face of mine, the one that disarms people with a sly twinkle in my eye. It’s the face that says “Confess to me” when I am in an interview situation. Perhaps you won’t even hear me judge you when we speak, but sometimes my will to speak is too great. Other times, it is silent and deadly with a force that even makes me feel shame.
I’ve always been a really good liar to my parents, to my family, to my friends, to anyone that dares enter my world of vivid stories and colorful novela-esque drama. Like the time I told people when I was in junior high that our Thanksgiving dinner was a failure because the turkey blew out of the oven. When that tale made the rounds to my older sister, I was oh-so busted! But it didn’t matter, it wasn’t until the end of the school day that the truth was revealed.
I know the truth about my lies. I’ve never possessed a great poker face. I may think my lies achieve their assigned tasks, but my inner truth is always on display. It’s one of the many walking contradictions I possess. For those who are attuned, and maybe even those who are recklessly dense, you will most likely be able to read me like an alternate selection from the Book of the Month Club. I have never been able to truly hide the panoply of insecurities that motivates me to skirt the truth:
Fear of not being accepted.
Fear of being unloved.
Fear of being left behind.
Fear of being invisible.
Fear of being ordinary.
Fear. Just plain fear.
This slow journey to better health has some real pitfalls. Shedding layers of my physical self is revealing a lot of what I’ve attempted to keep buried. Facing these truths also means having to apologize to a lot of people for the litany of untruths and manipulations I’ve spun better than Charlotte on her web for much of my life. I say to you all, “I’m not proud of being duplicitous, but I am glad you have stuck by me no matter what.” However, of all the lies I’ve told, the worst are the ones I tell to myself.
Lying is on par with keeping a secret or withholding information. The stupid truth is that no matter how hard you try to keep things hidden, the more certain they are to be revealed in the end. Yet, so many of us keep making that decision, certain the consequences will never materialize. That we’re untouchable. And no one will get hurt. But it’s wrong. Someone always gets hurt. Sometimes it is whoever is closest to the blast zone when it detonates. It could be someone you love, but really, the biggest damage is done to yourself.
The lies I’ve told to myself vary in size, from tiny to epic. Thinking about it now, the size really doesn’t matter. A lie is a lie. I think about how I’ve lied to myself every day:
I’ll diet tomorrow.
I’ll exercise this weekend.
I’ll go to King Taco one last time.
I’ll eat these nachos one last time before getting serious about eating better.
I do love myself.
I do care about my life.
I do matter.
These last two days have been tough. I’m fuckin’ tired. I’m tired of carrying all of this weight around, literally and figuratively. This eternal struggle of constantly having to find new spaces for the pounds I keep gaining and losing is getting to me. I feel the struggle in a much different way and it’s a feeling that not even the Lexapro can quell. I just can’t spin any more lies.
At one point today, I just let my feelings spill out in front of my boss. I just had enough: The drive to Lindora, the drive to work, racing to get from one point to another. The sad drop of just .3 of a pound, despite the booster shot. The copious handfuls of walnuts I couldn’t stop shoveling into my mouth last night. The guys I’ve met on Scruff and Growlr who don’t seem to want to respond back to texts or DMs on the apps anymore, despite their initial interest. The shit show in DC that is giving lying a whole new allure to a country that refuses to acknowledge how the weight of an idealized, racist past is NOT the way to go.
Sigh. A run on sentence of emotion. A purge. Truth. Real truth. I know I will get through this intact. I took a walk after my sensible lunch. I started to write this post, to get these feelings out into the open before their toxicity triggered the mania that makes me reach for food I don’t need. And so far, I’ve held it together.
Man, at some point, I know I am going to like myself enough to not punish myself with these thoughts anymore, that I won’t punish my body with these mad lapses in greasy, salty and fatty foods. It’s ironic, being this people pleaser, always striving to make the rest of the room feel great. I have never been able to do that for myself. Worse, I’d invent false personas with which to keep people around happy and engaged enough to keep me as their friend. Really, I just wanted to hide the deficiencies I saw in my physical self.
Food never judged me, which is why I consumed so much of it since I was kid. Shoes and all the other material goods didn’t judge me, which is why I spent so much money I didn’t have amassing so many things. It’s amazing what we tell ourselves to feign the feeling or project the image of happiness. And for what? I’ve made myself sick in ways I thought would never happen to me. But they did. I want to get better. I want to be well. I want to be no longer afraid. I want to be honest with not only the world, but myself.
I knew this return to Lindora would be different than my previous experiences. What I didn’t anticipate was such introspection as a result of what would be dredged up in the process. I’ve never lost weight this slow before. Then again, I’ve never been so affected by the necessity of no longer being under this tyranny of food.
Driving home tonight from work, my iPod shuffled to play Sara Bareilles’s “The King of Anything.” At one point she sings, “Waitin’ for someone to tell me it’s my turn to decide.” The decision to be healthy and strong has been made. What needs to happen next is to accept a vow of truth and stop the lies that have resulted in nothing but pain and fear.
All my life
To make everybody happy while I
Waitin’ for someone to tell me it’s my turn
To decide. — From “King of Anything” by Sara Bareilles