In the past, when I’ve intended to lose weight and have also claimed to have explored the mental processes as I lose, I failed.

I failed to continue losing weight. I failed at fixing the things in my brain that kept me where I was. I gave myself an out, and I took it — followed by regaining the weight. All of it. And more on top of it.

Because you see, I firmly believe that my weight is a symptom; a sign that my body has chosen to protect itself by layering on fat. But it’s not a protection, really, because enough layers will eventually kill me. Sure, I dream of wearing cute clothes as I continue to lose weight, but this is a fight for my life.

Give me calm waters and sunshine.

I’ve often referred to this process as a journey; in full disclosure, I really don’t like that term. This has been more than just traveling from one place to another; it has been a metamorphosis. It’s been a process of correction, rebuilding, learning, admission, change, and brutal self-examination. As I heal, I shed weight. I become healthier, both physically and mentally — and not every step of this is a pleasant process.

There have been times in my life where I have wallowed in the darker recesses of depression, unable to function. I’ve lived in fear of the smallest things. I’ve been frozen, knowing what I should be doing, but incapable of rousing myself to just get through a simple day, hour, moment. Those were the days where the demons ran rampant in my mind, and the darkest of thoughts were constantly lurking on the edges.

Depression is a dungeon that’s both a place of horror and of safety; enduring it is awful, but leaving it can be even more terrifying. Because I know that darkness, I have to remain on guard to keep those bridge trolls that would pull me under at bay.

Last week, something happened out of the blue that triggered stark memories of those desperate days. One moment, I was happy with my life as it was; the next, terrified by some past transgression and having to face it all over again.

I have fought hard to change myself, to evolve and remain steadfast against the mental anguish that I endured, and there are times that I can nearly pretend they were never there; that I never had to claw my way out of that dungeon. Rather than forget, I needed the reminder of what I had to do to get myself beyond that dark space, and that I can never truly assume the trolls have left that bridge.

It would be a mistake not to acknowledge that dark part of myself, as much as it would be a mistake to lose every ounce of weight, claim a goal, and then pretend as if I had never been obese. All of these things — the good, the bad, the ugly — are part of me; it’s up to me which part I feed and allow to grow. I am always capable of stumbling; all of us are.

This is the hardest work of the journey; it goes beyond simple matters like what I choose to put in my mouth, how much I move. It’s reaction, it’s change, it’s shining a light on those parts of myself that have tripped me in the past, and working on them so they never trip me, again.

Thanks to those of you who have been there to stand by me in the toughest of times; you have been part of my bridge over the troubled waters I have faced.