Fighting with myself -- I wonder who will win?

Once upon a time, some three years or so ago, I weighed about 70 lbs. less than I do now. I was working out five to seven times a week for an hour or more. I wore a size 10-12. Energy coursed through me. Clothes fit. Candy, cakes, cookies, fattening food were not enticing. Apples, greens and lean meats were my daily fare. I smoked a pack or pack and a half a day. I enjoyed being this "me".

Hello, breast cancer. Buh-bye abdominal muscle and left breast. Hello, Tamoxifen. Then Lexapro and Lunesta. Buh-bye uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes, cervix. Buh-bye cigarettes. Hello, Propranolol (for essential tremors). Buh-bye thyroid as my body decides to kill that (instead of the cancer cells? WTF?) Hello, hypothyroidism. Buh-bye metabolism. Hello, levothyroxine. Hello, that old 70 lbs. come back again.

Clothes don't fit. Fell back into eating candy, cookies and even cake (which I never really cared that much for in the first place.) Wearing size 18-22 depending on top or bottom. Work out? Not really.

So. Now, with the encouragement of my daughter - who addresses the issue of my weight every time we communicate, reminding me that she would feel like an orphan if I died (ouch!), insisting on a diet of whole food only (little or no meat, no garbage food), inquiries into my exercise regimen - I am rejoining the original fight that got me to smaller size clothing in the first place. What a battle it is! I had cigarettes to lean on last time. My metabolism wasn't rocked by menopause and hypothyroidism. I wasn't spending days out of almost every month a some doctor's office. There are no "negotiations" of "well, I'll have this now but I'll work out " because I know I won't go work out at all.

Whew. Now it's a battle just to get out of bed some mornings because my head feels like it belongs on someone else's body (and the jury is out on whether that someone else has a pulse.) When I do get up and go, I find my energy got up and left within a few hours on some days. Making those good food choices over the convenience of garbage food is more difficult because I don't have the cigarettes to kill my taste altogether so I don't care what the food tastes like. My body is so flabby and huge and awkward that working out is not only not an addictive pleasure but a downright chore. The battle is constant, painful, frustrating -- and totally with myself.

Will the old me, the one I liked being years ago, win? No. She's gone with all the missing parts and hormones. Will the current me, the one on all the drugs, large size clothes, fatigue, win? No. She'll lose everything because you just can't keep on going that way. The me that is going to win is the me that comes out of this healthier, at a good weight, off the drugs that are not necessary for my survival, without cigarettes, in menopause, with hypothyroidism - and still with a good sense of humor. Yeah! That's the me I want to win!

Cheer me on, eh?