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My Profile
She blinded him with whiteness - 2008-07-25
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10:54 a.m. - 2008-04-26
Archive diving is a dangerous sport. A necessary risk though if I want to keep on top of how much things have changed. How much I have changed. Physically the news ain't good. I happened upon THIS entry last night and promptly burst into tears. It's taken one year to completely undo the work of the previous four. That bitty waist and trim tummy are gone. So is the little ass, the smooth planed face and the gratifying way my rings slid around on my fingers. Those tiny delicate wrists I loaded down with clattering bangles are fat as cord wood and are rarely decorated these days. In short, I am a moose. This horrifying and embarrassing return to Fat City is no one's fault but my own. I know what I have to do to shed this blubber, even more than getting a handle on my eating I desperately need to get off my big butt, but find myself incredibly resistant to this. Laziness? Partly. But after having had my cry last night I really thought about what was holding me back. Realized how fierce I am about EVER going backward toward the dark years. Though initially my weight loss was freeing, once the first 30 pounds came off I started reaching out. Did cool stuff like marching on DC with D-land pals and yippee skippied off to Journal Cons, things I never would have done when I was still the size of Jupiter, but that was just a happy side effect. The true reason I was losing all that weight was far less savory than getting smaller to have a larger life. Mike was cheating on me and I was humiliated. He might be making himself and by extension, me, a fool, but I would NOT be a joke. Nor would his shitty betrayal be in any way 'justified' because his wife was a cow and his house a sty. My house would be perfect. I would be perfect. There would be NO smirks directed my way. No snickers and "Well can you blame him?" remarks behind my back. I would prove to the world and Mike (and maybe myself) that he was just a selfish horkwad without an ounce of brains or class. Imagine cheating on a fantastic babe like me! Spotless, cleverly decorated house. Weedless, glowing gardens. And the little woman would BE little. Couldn't do anything about my outrageous height, but I could make sure there wasn't the tiniest smidgen of superfluous flesh on my gantry frame. Eventually there wasn't. I was a twig. A starved, exactingly coiffed, expertly painted twig. The house, the yard, the cars, they were as perfectly groomed as I was… And it didn't make a bit of difference. At least as far as Mike's feelings toward me and our marriage went. Talk about humiliating! Heartbroken to find out the best I could be still wasn't good enough I finally gave in. Gave in and gave up on my marriage. I took a bit of comfort in thinking that at least I wasn't completely pathetic, from the outside I and my surroundings looked damn good. I used that small scrap as the first step toward becoming more than Mike's unwanted wife. Keeping up with the house and keeping the weight off were things I did for myself then. Accomplishments I could count on as I began the process of becoming a whole person and desperately needed the validation that yes, I can be strong and I can do some things well. A tidy house and a skinny waist might not be much but it was something. Positives after 24 years of doing nothing right.* *Of course I know now I'd been doing fine all along, I'd just been living with a man who took sadistic pleasure in denying me anything that gave me peace of mind or a sense of pride. Bush and Co could take lessons from Mike about how to break someone's will and spirit with torture. And he can do it without a waterboard! So how then do I recapture the good from being active and a smart eater and not conjure up the hurt and the shamed punishing mindset that kept me busy and the fork out of my mouth? That's the challenge I'm setting for myself. This time I do it for me. Not as a shield for my wounded pride. Not as a desperate relationship Crazy Glue. It has to be something I do for me because there are no conditions on Mick's love. I do not have to be anything or look a certain way or maintain some arbitrary standard to keep him by my side. He loves me. Flat out. Fat or thin. Primped or plain. My outside is forever beautiful because it's the container for my heart and my soul, those being what he's really in love with. Slowly I'm untangling the knotted mess. I'm learning how to want without having to be in pain over it. That a goal can be a positive thing and not a desperate act to stave off disaster. I'm trying to find the comfortable fulcrum to balance on with hard work on one end and satisfaction on the other and how to dispense with the weights of guilt and shame and fear altogether. I have a sneaky feeling that getting my head right will be a lot harder than the dieting itself. Worth it though because when I'm in that place it will spill over into way more areas than just me fitting back into my 12's. That much I am sure of.
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