The Physiology of Grief.

I have never been an emotional eater, but I do gain a lot of weight whenever I am pregnant. I haven't had much trouble getting it off previously, and I was losing fine after my baby Rhys was born. I was only 20 lbs from being my pre-pregnancy weight, and losing by the day.

After Rhys died I didn't eat for a week. I couldn't. I ate a strawberry when it was forced upon me, a few bites of dinner. Eating made me feel physically sick. Then one day some switch flipped and all of a sudden I was eating. I was eating well. Too well. I was eating a lot... and drinking. Drinking all those delicious calories. Mmm, beer calories, vodka calories, juice mixer calories. Tons of em.

And now here I am, almost three months later and nearly 20 lbs heavier than I was when I lost him. I am nearly 40 lbs heavier than I was before I was pregnant with him. I am starting to eat better, eat a lot less and try to eat a lot healthier. I am trying my damndest to not go to McDonald's on day's that I feel too sad to fix dinner for my kids. I am not drinking every day, and on days I do drink it is not nearly as much... yet I am still 40 lbs heavier than I was before him.

I want to make the excuses. I want to say that this weight is something he gave me, how could I possibly want to lose it? I want to rage against the bad feelings I have about myself when I look in the mirror, I want to scream "GRIEF IS MAKING MY PANTS TOO TIGHT!" and be ok with that. 

But that is all those are. Excuses. Bad excuses. Rhys gave me so much love, and he brought so much light into my life. He showed me that my two children could be beautiful and loving and proud of a new tiny member of the family. He showed me that my capacity for love is greater than I could have guessed, and that my love can extend beyond life and breath. He showed me that I should love wholly and entirely while I can, because as cliche as it sounds, you never know when it will be over, suddenly. Unjustifiably. My beautiful son, my baby who is gone from me forever, is not an excuse. He is not a reason to stay fat and sad. 

But how do I get out of this? How do I make my body stop being so fat? How do I make the celery and the extra flights of stairs, and the nights where I want just one more drink, but stop myself... how do I make them make a difference? Why am I letting myself carry an extra 40 lbs around my belly and thighs when I should be carrying an extra 20 in my arms? 

I do want to eat all the time. I am constantly hungry, empty, feeling like another helping might fill me a little. I want to imbibe, revel in the delicious heavy haze that drinking affords me... heavy in my head, and heavy on my cursed bathroom scale. 

How do I come out of this? How do I recover? How do I find it in me to make my body into something I am proud of again? How do I make myself really want to?

And beyond that... how do I just be ok?