The Tipping Point
I seem to have reached a tipping point when it comes to my wardrobe. All of a sudden, I can’t stand wearing the same T-shirts I wore 55 pounds ago. I’ve changed out my pants several times, but my T-shirts always looked and felt just fine to me throughout this process of losing weight. But now, just like that, they’re too big.
What’s funny is that it seems like this is the same point I came to the last time down the scale- the point where I went and bought a whole new wardrobe. This “whole new wardrobe” is the one that has been waiting for almost 3 years in storage bins in my closet.
So I took down the bins and tried everything on. Most things actually fit. Some are still too small, or at least they seem that way to me now. And then a few things I just can’t imagine ever wearing again. When I bought those clothes, I was shopping the women’s department, not thrifting men’s pants on Ebay. So some things will go: the skinny jeans (two size 10 pairs in addition to the size 12 ones I already decluttered) and some boot-cut yoga pants that no longer look right now that everyone just wears leggings.
The T-shirts and tops seem fine, although there’s some question about my beloved silky camisoles. There’s something quite different about the shape of my back and chest, probably due to the weight-lifting I’ve been doing for the past year and a half now. This makes the bras questionable as well: they just don’t lie flat against my sternum, and they move around even on the tightest hook.
No one’s really wearing bras much at this point in history anyway, so I’m not too concerned about buying new ones. But I did discover that the bra I purchased 6 months ago is way too big, despite my weight not changing much at all. I tried on my black men’s pants and they’re too big, too. My men’s leather belt won’t hold them up either since it slides down even on the last hole.
Wearing pajamas and gym clothes exclusively over the past months, I’d taken more notice as to the fit of my gym/pajama tees. Four grey and four blue Old Navy size XXL T-shirts have been going strong for at least two years now. The grey ones started sprouting holes a couple months back, but I continued to wear them anyway, especially since no one would be seeing them. But then suddenly, just this week, I started hating them. They made me feel sloppy, slovenly, like a slob, just all over the place. The necklines kept shifting around when I would exercise or move around in bed. The armholes looked ridiculous anytime I caught sight of them in the mirror.
What happened this week? What changed? Was it some subtle amount of weight that I lost? Was it the new sweatpants that just fit me better? I can’t be sure, but something made me cross over into feeling like my clothes were just too big. I decluttered the gym/pajama tees and some tank tops that were just as big and unsightly. I know, I thought. I’ll just take all my regular T-shirts and reassign them to gym/pajama T-shirts. I took them off the hangers, folded them up, and tucked them into the drawer. But then I tried exercising and sleeping in those T-shirts and they seemed just as bad.
It was at this point that I realized I just needed smaller clothes. I needed the stuff in storage I’d been waiting so long to fit into. I thought this moment would feel like a great success, like validation for all the hard work I’ve put into dieting and exercise. I thought it would give me back the confidence I had when I bought that stuff.
But I was taking Adderall back then. The weight was falling off and my energy was through the roof. I was spending long hours scouring thrift stores for clothes to sell on Ebay, tirelessly walking the aisles, my arms flicking through rack after rack. I felt confident because I was making money from all that shopping, high on retail therapy to boot. I was full of energy, and I was thin. Now, I’m just thin. I don’t feel energetic or confident or even okay. I’m struggling with the depths of depression every day, crying in bed and wishing I’d just disappear. And being thin isn’t helping.
Now being heavy was definitely harder- I couldn’t stand how I looked back then and it fueled my self-hatred and suicidal thoughts. I felt like a slave to bingeing on donuts, potato chips, and ice cream. The Seroquel made me less violent but it also made it impossible to feel full and so I just couldn’t stop eating. So there’s some relief in not having to deal with those problems now. I don’t have to wonder what to eat or whether to exercise anymore. It’s all set in stone and I do it no matter what.
And being thin- yes, I get to wear “straight-size” clothes, fitting into a large or extra-large, so there are more options than there were in plus sizes. Yes, I can stand to see myself in the mirror without becoming filled with self-loathing. But does being thin really help? Not really, no. I’m still stuck with this illness, still fighting it every day.
And no matter how passionate I am about my silky camisoles and my super-wide-leg pants, they don’t take away the pain of depression. Sometimes I lie in bed thinking about my clothes- what fits and what doesn’t, how many pairs of pants I own, where I can get a new belt. And it helps me get through that moment; it helps me forget the pain. But it only lasts for a few minutes. I’m still left with myself and my illness in the end.
