Still a fat girl
Saturday night. Some days are filled with thoughts about how much I've accomplished since June, how much better I feel - physically and emotionally - with less fat hanging (nice mental picture, isn't it?) around, and just generally feeling energized about what I'm doing. Today was not one of those days or, at least, not uniformly so.
Now, you'd think I'd be getting more comfortable with the hunk of lard (aka my stomach) because I've actually started massaging it at least once a day with Nivea Skin Firming Lotion in hopes of staving off the world's largest flap of overhanging skin when this little journey I'm on reaches some sort of conclusion (or I stop being able to lose weight without starving myself). I am even able to look at it in the mirror while performing said massage without being physically ill, which really, truly is progress. I think this is becoming "OK" for me because I sort of psych myself up for it. Today, while at the tailor's getting several suit jackets taken in substantially (suits that were snug back in August and one that was so tight I've been unable to wear it since 2002), I turned to the side to show Mr. Felice the freaky job the last (really cheap) tailor had done on one of the skirt hems, looked upwards from the hem and saw IT, in all ITS glory. Gack!
Unbidden, all of the familiar old stuff started in my head: You're fat. You'll always be fat. Why are you even bothering when, after months of denying yourself food, you still look the same? I shook it off and went on my merry way until I was trying on a long dress I'm going to have shortened to the knees and, again, looked at the dress in side view. Now, before I did that, I was nearly in tears of joy because of the way the dress made me feel. Once it made an appearance, I suddenly lost any interest in getting the dress altered and had to fight the urge to throw it - and everything else in the closet - in the next bag for the Goodwill after stopping at Cotija's Taco Shop to order up one of everything.
Do you know how long it's been since I binged? I don't either, but I know it's been a really, really long time. I've grazed a few times, sure, but that's small, controlled amounts of different foods. For a compulsive overeater like me not to stuff my face with huge quantities of food is a big achievement, and yet I know how fragile this little truce with my inner binge eater is. I remember, all too well, how quickly the good habits died and the weight came back on after my separation. Emotional upheaval is a classic trigger for me and Life is rife with that, especially if you're going to leave the house and interact with others, as I am now.
I didn't, and I won't, stop at the taco shop. I came home, ate my prepared lunch, drank a bunch of water, and watched some TV. I know that I've gone past the tipping point of this journey, so that it's now easier to keep going than to regress. But I'm worried...I'm scared, actually...because I looked into the face of my nemesis today and blinked. Scared is good, though. It's when I stop being scared and start taking it for granted that things stop making sense.
Now, you'd think I'd be getting more comfortable with the hunk of lard (aka my stomach) because I've actually started massaging it at least once a day with Nivea Skin Firming Lotion in hopes of staving off the world's largest flap of overhanging skin when this little journey I'm on reaches some sort of conclusion (or I stop being able to lose weight without starving myself). I am even able to look at it in the mirror while performing said massage without being physically ill, which really, truly is progress. I think this is becoming "OK" for me because I sort of psych myself up for it. Today, while at the tailor's getting several suit jackets taken in substantially (suits that were snug back in August and one that was so tight I've been unable to wear it since 2002), I turned to the side to show Mr. Felice the freaky job the last (really cheap) tailor had done on one of the skirt hems, looked upwards from the hem and saw IT, in all ITS glory. Gack!
Unbidden, all of the familiar old stuff started in my head: You're fat. You'll always be fat. Why are you even bothering when, after months of denying yourself food, you still look the same? I shook it off and went on my merry way until I was trying on a long dress I'm going to have shortened to the knees and, again, looked at the dress in side view. Now, before I did that, I was nearly in tears of joy because of the way the dress made me feel. Once it made an appearance, I suddenly lost any interest in getting the dress altered and had to fight the urge to throw it - and everything else in the closet - in the next bag for the Goodwill after stopping at Cotija's Taco Shop to order up one of everything.
Do you know how long it's been since I binged? I don't either, but I know it's been a really, really long time. I've grazed a few times, sure, but that's small, controlled amounts of different foods. For a compulsive overeater like me not to stuff my face with huge quantities of food is a big achievement, and yet I know how fragile this little truce with my inner binge eater is. I remember, all too well, how quickly the good habits died and the weight came back on after my separation. Emotional upheaval is a classic trigger for me and Life is rife with that, especially if you're going to leave the house and interact with others, as I am now.
I didn't, and I won't, stop at the taco shop. I came home, ate my prepared lunch, drank a bunch of water, and watched some TV. I know that I've gone past the tipping point of this journey, so that it's now easier to keep going than to regress. But I'm worried...I'm scared, actually...because I looked into the face of my nemesis today and blinked. Scared is good, though. It's when I stop being scared and start taking it for granted that things stop making sense.
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