One of Those Days

I am having one of those days when I'm convinced I'm going to be fat forever. I hate this feeling. It's entirely self-defeating, and pretty much counterproductive to feeling good about my journey since the surgery.

Here's the kicker about the Lap-band surgery--it ain't a quick fix. Yes, it restricts my intake somewhat, and true, some foods I will never eat again. Steak, for example. Never again will I enjoy a steak. It's just not in the cards, mostly because it won't stay in my stomach.

I threw up twice today. I throw up at least once a week, because what will and won't pass changes day by day, based on how much I've already eaten, what time of day it is (stomach is tighter in the morning), if I drink any liquids while I'm eating, and what order I eat the contents of my meal (i.e. if I eat salad first, that's all I'll eat...and I think I've hit on something here...). It saddens me a bit that I've become so used to vomitting, not in the way that bulimics get used to it, and somehow feel empowered by it, but in this strange way that has made vomiting not so strange to me. I can do it on command now, y'all. Don't even have to use a finger. It's strange to have that kind of control of an unconscious reflex. Making the unconscious conscious is a strange and discomforting thing. I noticed tonight that the enamel on my teeth is not appreciating this somewhat-regular regurgitation, and I feel confident a doctor, could I afford one, would tell me that this is the greatest sign that I could ever receive that I am not eating right, or in the right proportions, for a post-op Lap-bander. (sigh) I know they'd be right.

But that all changes in a few short days, again, and for good. I don't want to be fat anymore. It is my dearest wish to fit into a size 10. That doesn't seem like such an absurd goal when I write it down...I mean, I've already gone down six sizes (currently at 22) so I only need to do that again, twice. I just want to feel good, body and soul, and I want to quit feeling the stares of mean-spirited strangers when I drive past them eating something (Haven't you eaten enough this year? is what I imagine they think) and I want to give up the old fear I have that ever time people laugh quietly in public, they are actually laughing at me for being fat. Of course, being judged for who you are and not what you look like is a bit more scalding, but I'll take it over the self-doubt, any day.

Kate Moss was quoted once as saying, "Nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels." I imagine that she is right, but I have never been priviledged enough to test the merit of this statement against my own personal experience. I like how that quote sounds--it bolsters me somehow--but at the same time, it kind of makes my skin crawl. I think it's easy to talk about being skinny when you have the cash to be a cocaine addict with flimsy morals and global recognition.

Part of me is scared to be more trim, and the other part of me is scared I can't do what it takes to get there. Giving up the bulk of my built-in security blanket is a daunting thought, which is funny, because it's the one thing I want most in the world. Odd how often we can function as living, breathing paradoxes to ourselves.

So that's it. I want it, and I'm scared. What IS that?