Being fat and Who the hell cares (in the context of misery and potentially eventual Salvation)
Huh. I just had a thought. What if when I was depressed for that 5 year period, if it there was no reason for gaining weight? I typically think of it as the Abilify dosage I took, as a mood stabilizer. Perhaps it was just that I hated my life?
Yep, that could have been it. It could have literally been because I hated being alive and I didn’t want to be anymore. By that logic, all major weight loss is heroic, because think of the amount of crazy that has to come out for anyone to come back from that much being miserable. I’m not saying that is what makes people gain weight. But could it be, at least as a possibility? I don’t see why not.
If you have no friends and no outlet for your stress and the world tells you that you are a garbage person anyway, I dare you not to try to find a way to make that suffering hurt less. You may turn to exercise and working out like a crazy person. You could diet. That could turn into an eating disorder. Either way, there are 10000+ different potential outlets for pain, and they all suck. There should be no competition there; the sucking is there regardless of whose life sucks most. “The Biggest Loser” is a bastard title for a television show.
I don’t particularly care why I was fat. It is what it is, and although I feel better physically now, that is a given. Part of being miserable is feeling like crap, regardless of if you gain weight, turn to drugs, etc. The feeling like crap is the obvious thing that is constant, no matter how you try to problem solve that. Creativity in solving your own problems could be self-medication, if you choose not to judge it. If you naturally a sensitive person and then you use your creativity to become addicted to one of few options, and typically, the most viable one (based on what you perceive in that moment and your experiences), maybe treating drug addiction proactively could be as simple as challenging people who have no decent outlet for being miserable. Isn’t that the entire point of being creative, and also deciding better? If you empower someone to change their circumstances, you provide a way of life.
Regardless of why you are miserable, you still deserve to be able to find help that doesn’t automatically put you into the role of “victim”. You are still a full person, even if you are receiving treatment for something. In my experience, since I care for people naturally and I get most joy from that, getting a dog early in my depression that was undeniably labeled as “mine” changed my life. I had to get out of bed, not necessarily because Ella wouldn’t get fed, but because I felt bad if I couldn’t enjoy her company. She was my obligation. I asked for her. Like hell I was going to make her miserable and have a sad dog existence by starving her of my affection because I was numb.
So I got better. It’s funny, this empathy thing works both ways. I had to love her enough to want better to accept help, and eventually, I was able to acknowledge that the help came from Christ. But to say that it was just Jesus that sent down his fleet of angels and with the tap of his holy finger, booped me into happiness? Well, yes. But you see, I still had to participate. Being healthy and choosing better isn’t that simple.
We all have choices to make, and I know it was Jesus that saved me, but in terms of me choosing him back, that is beside the point. He had already been trying to get my attention for some time. I had yet to simply accept the stupid grace. Once I did, it was pretty exponential from there, because I knew more over time that he would fight for me, and in a way, because I had been lucky enough to learn how to ignore the misery and crappy bits while I was surrounded by a sea of being miserable. Nothing could have catalyzed my faith better than really getting to understand suffering firsthand. And after that? Well, I wanted better, and he was my best option anyways. Like hell I’m giving up on that.
It’s bitter and beautiful, and that is just life. It is. We all suffer, but that suffering makes us stronger, as terribly cliché as that may be. We all deserve the right to heal on our own time frames and trust in whatever we think will help most. I am lucky because I was able to choose Christ, but not all people can, and not all people survive through such misery to be able to let it change them. Not all people can take God at his word; sometimes life is just too much to deal with and the hope seems like it’s a pissing contest at best. But my life is the story that I would one day like to tell, and if I can make it as baller as possible, I’m doing that. I think it’s brave to change anything in general, and if that makes me brave, so be it, I will learn to accept stupid compliments that I don’t want. It is. It shouldn’t be right or wrong, so long as we just let it be together. Being miserable isn’t fair, but if you convince yourself you are a victim, you will likely allow yourself to believe that longer than is actually helpful. And you may not always realize it, after all is said and done.
I am leading my own stupid, clueless, fabulous, dancey-as-all-get-out life, and I love it that way. I don’t care about the crap I can’t control, and that hardest part has always been trusting God, that he could pull me out of it. I can do that now. Quite frankly, that is all I need. If you don’t believe me, I dare you to test it.
Sometimes, I wonder how few people allow themselves to just be. We run around all day long in the States from stupid time commitment to half-full enjoyment, and really, I just want to savor being alive for exactly what it is, and willfully choose gratitude through Christ. I don’t have to have my crap together. Jesus loves me. Screw the rest of it, I swear.