The stubborn fat did not take the hint.
I spend time wavering between the knowledge that I've come by this chunkification honestly and cursing it as I try and try and try again to delete it from my life.
First - the reasons for it, as repeated to myself: Listen, it's been a rough couple of years. Job loss, moving, rape, an affair, a near-miss divorce, long commutes, the oldest child leaving the nest, financial difficulties, a bankruptcy, loss of a house and car to the repo men. So you stress ate your way through it? Big deal.
It's all excuses, I respond to myself. You are fat because you eat too much and don't move enough, you big, fat baby. Seriously, who do you think you're fooling? I've seen you eat ice cream. It's not pretty.
So then I try all the formerly effective methods. A few years ago, these things worked for me. I have photographic evidence.
Starvation, speed from a certified dealer, exercise, Body for Life, The Belly Fat Cure, sensible eating of vegetables, fruits, lean meats and whole grains, limiting my sugar intake. Low carb. Low calorie. The beer diet. The wine and cheese diet. The oh what the hell, it doesn't matter as long as I run five miles a day and lift weights regime.
My weight resembles the flag tied to the middle of a tug-of-war rope. An inch this way, an inch that. And my fat ass? Usually ends up in the mud in the middle.
I despaired, but didn't give up. I can feel my muscles shaping up in my legs, my upper arms. My abs, however, are mush. Even on days when I nearly starve myself of everything but olives and vodka, I feel bloated. I take off a few pounds and they come back again and what I'm doing physically and what I'm consuming doesn't seem to matter much.
You're getting old. All those years of living on speed have wrecked your thyroid or your metabolism. You are doomed to a life as a fatty. Go buy some caftans, make that your signature look, pop a colorful turban on your head and move on. There's a new bakery in town, you know. My internal conversations become more deadly, more resigned and self-shaming.
Then someone sent me an email suggesting that my IUD might be causing some of my weight and depression issues. My Mirena IUD has hormones in it, you see. At first I dismissed the idea because this is the second Mirena I've had. The first one lasted five years and, although I battled my weight then, too, I simply chalked that up to the stress eating from job change, a move to Georgia, more money problems and my indomitable sweet tooth. What depressions and mood swings I experienced, I assumed they were the result of those life issues, as well. I'd always bore a sweet tooth. It was simply more. Law of diminishing returns or addiction, you know what I'm talking about. It took more sugar to get that same feeling of satisfaction. Before the guilt set in, of course.
What didn't occur to me was the fact that all that stress eating, the cravings, mood swings and depression might be exacerbated by hormones in the IUD.
Then I googled Mirena weight gain and found forums and message boards populated with messages from lots of women experiencing the exact same symptoms I've been having.
Today I'm calling my ob-gyn to have this thing yanked. I realize that after that, I'll have to deal with the fact that if I remain fat and depressed, it's my own damn fault and will finally have to go in for that lobotomy/liposuction treatment at the boutique medical facility/spa. I'm prepared for the worst.
Mind you, contraception is not something to be taken lightly. I knew I'd have to discuss this with MathMan. I told him what I'd found out - how other women had experienced the weight gain, the mood swings and cravings, the bloated feeling, the boob rash and acne. I told him what I planned to do. He listened in his typical fashion - supportive with a hint of skepticism. I'm pretty used to that.
"Oh and hey, the info I've found suggests that after a few weeks without this thing, I'll get my sex drive back."
I love it when he jumps up and clicks his heels like that.
