Wednesday, December 23, 2009
I woke up this morning, and for the first time in months, the thought of food absolutely terrified me.
It was blessed. And wonderful. I kept wanting to cry because I just kept thinking of all I had put in my mouth, and how fat I was. I had a quarter of a salmon patty, some white rice, some pretzel sticks, a 100 cal snack, and a teaspoon of peanutbutter. All before bed yesterday. I stared at myself in the mirror when I woke up and nearly sobbed. My face is crooked and fat. My eyes are uneven. My arms are hideous. My stomach is buldging. My pants are tight. My new size 4's are starting to be truly a squeeze. As it is, I'm starting to get this sheer panic for wearing clothing that actually fits. The tight shirts i had started to buy are all being shoved into the deepest bowels of my closet in favor of sweat pants and baggy tops, because I'm so afraid of fat showing when I sit down and people realizing how big I am.
Logically, I know, despite maintaining a steady weight of about 122-124 or 125 (I haven't been using my own scale at home, but the one at the gym, and it's hard to read sometimes), that I have to have lost something. The size small sweat pants that I got from Kohls--adorable things, actually--aren't tight anymore. They hang around my ass. The size small Victoria's Secret boyshorts my stepmom got me for Hannukah are only a little tight, whereas just two months ago, I couldn't even pull them up when I tried on a similar pair.
I know my legs have gotten smaller. And I fit into a size 8 dress at a very expensive women's clothing store that I would never have walked into before I started this. And their sizes, one of the workers said, run smaller than most stores because they "haven't changed their measurement standards like other stores." One dress, when I was looking at in the three way mirror outside of the dressing room, gave me such a small waist. I had the clerk helping me (you get assigned a clerk, ok?) actually say, "What brand corset are you using? You can't even see the lines!"
There's at least one thing my short, Russian side gives me. It's curves to rival Bettie Boop. But that also means thick legs. And thick arms. And my body seems to WANT to be fat sometimes.
Short chubby Russians. And my mother is short, stocky Irish. Hoorah for the gene pool.
But I see knee high and thigh high socks, and know my calves are too fat for them.
I know some of them I couldn't even pull up.
I was at Target, and saw so many cute OTK's, and I knew they would pinch the fat on my thighs, and I almost started to cry. I've lost 73lbs+, and I'm still not able wear even a pair of knee highs.
And I was tired yesterday, and went home after Target, and I ate my emotions.
And when I realized what I did today, it was like I could hear that voice of Ana in my head again.
"How do you think you got this way? Do you think food will ever help you? What has food done for you? It betrays you. You tried to eat it, and what happened? You get migraines, and can't sleep, and have terrible nightmares. You have chest pain, and sickness, and shaking. Yes, it was hard to get used to me, and I made you sick sometimes like food did, but sickness from me is beautiful and delicate. What's sickness from food? You're fucked either way--at least with me, people will still like you."
And I could hear myself. As I"m standing there, pinching the fat on my body, thinking, I hate this. I hate this so much. I hate how I look. Why am I still so fat?
And there, in the background, the voice of my willpower--the voice that started me on this to begin with.
"You've always eaten your emotions. Now you're trying to change habits. Most people gain back weight because they let their fuck ups snowball. Are you happy with your habits? And are you happy with the weight you are now?"
It's really that easy, isn't it?
In the words of Nike--Just Do It.
It's how i started in April.
I've always said to myself, "I'm fine with being a fat bastard, and when the day comes when I don't like it anymore, then I'll stop."
And then April 1st, I decided suddenly, "All right. I'm done with this now."
It was a switch.
There's no other way to describe it.
One day I ate, the next day I stopped.
It's like that now, in a way. I keep hearing myself in my head,
So what, now what? as my dad would say. So what if you're still fat, now what are you going to do about it? So what if you fucked up? Now how are you going to fix it?
So what if you're broke? Now how will you make money?
Yes, there's a problem. Now fix it.
But I'm scared. My dad's brother is having Christmas dinner at his house. His kids are naturally skinny and beautiful. They're all rich. They're making prime rib, lobster bisque, pineapple upside down cake, potatos, and various other things. I'm bringing a relish tray with lots of carrots to fill up on. They haven't seen me since I was at about 150-160, but the idea of going there, while still like this...I feel fatter. I feel worse. I feel horrible.
They all want to see me. I'm tempted to shit out and say I feel sick or something, because I sleep during the day, but my family won't forgive me.
They're all going there at 3pm, and since I sleep days, I'm able to show up around six. I might "accidentally oversleep" and show up at 7, after dinner, so I can just munch on carrots, and be able to choose a place to eat where no one can see me, and find a way to toss it without them knowing.
I'm so scared of this dinner.
I just got my strength back today.
I don't want to lose it again.
I wish I could just fall to the ground, kick like a child, and scream my throat bloody.
Or curl up and hide until the holidays are over.
I hate December.