236.

That’s not just a number. It’s a purgatory.

I am starting to wonder if I’m ever going to move away from this plateau in terms of my weight.

A plateau is defined as “a state of little or no change following a period of activity or progress.” For the record, this is my second week at 236. It is becoming increasingly clear to me that this plateau is manifesting itself in the broader scheme of how I’ve chosen to live my life. More, it is yet another wake-up call because, if high blood pressure and type-2 diabetes aren’t scary enough, so is stagnation.

I keep thinking about the concepts of gaining and losing. Not just in the physical sense, but the spiritual and emotional areas, too. I think about the financial gains and losses of the last few years. It’s been a lifetime of “too much.” I’ve consumed immense quantities of self-pitying, self-loathing, bank account draining stupidity.

I’ve surpassed the weight limit allowed for emotional baggage.

Reasons exist for the plateau on which I find myself. And the void that I have tried for years to fill is now a testament to the self-sabotage that is my routine.

The gravitational pull of a black hole is so powerful, not even light can escape. That is the void that has haunted my universe for as long as I can remember.

I don’t know what it’s going to take to get content again. I can’t say happy because that’s too lofty a goal. But I am in a state of suspended animation. Nothing is being lost or gained. Just…stasis. And it’s frustrating the hell out of me because I can’t seem to move from this point.

In some ways, the saving grace in all of this is not going by 236 to 237, although I was awfully close to that number at weigh-in this morning. I don’t want to cross that threshold tomorrow.

This is my last week of a 10-week program to rein in the lack of control in what and how I eat. This is my last week in the Lindora orbit before moving out into the real world without a daily check-in and vitamin B shots. I’ve lost 22 lbs., but gaining some insight into what it is that ails me in the first world sense.

This wasn’t for vanity. This wasn’t for loneliness, although I continue to eat my feelings. I am reaching for healthier food, however. This program was to better my life. But first, I need to recognize that I truly want to live, because some days, I don’t truly believe that I do. It is a selfish waste of time, space and gifts to even have such a dark thought enter my consciousness. But there it is and it feels like the gravitational pull that drags all matter into the center of a black hole. I am skirting its orbit now, but still a distance away from being totally consumed by this void once and for all.

This feels like madness sometimes. I remember a period where my Dad was having a similar mental break when he was this age. He was so angry, disconnected and dissatisfied with everything and everyone around him. He was “The Other,” not the man who raised us to be strong and responsible and healthy. “The Other” was weak, irrational and unstable. It was a terrible period for my family, but he rebounded and we got Dad back from whatever black hole threatened to consume him.

I’m “The Other” right now. I don’t want to be saved and I understand the cure. If I can bring down my sugar levels and stabilize my blood pressure, if I can eat better and get fit, then I can shed this malaise in my heart and brain. At some point, I will be able to say “this void is condemned.”

Writing helps. I’m not sure if I can say “I need help” just yet, because what I carry in my heart right now is something only I can repair.

I don’t know how to end this post. But I do know it won’t be the last.

Animo. Y vida.

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