The Scale: My Hate Relationship


 

 

I’ve stopped my affair with the scale. I don’t understand how one plastic box which displays numbers, can do so much harm! I love that little plastic box, but at the same time I hate it. When my little unpolished toes step on that box of fun, I can’t wait to see the number! Once my eyes set eyes on the scale, and I see that I’ve lost two pounds, my body goes into fat girl mode and decides that it’s time to binge. I know, “two pounds are wonderful, why would you want to sabotage that?”, first of all,  whoever is actually thinking that, you need to seriously shut up- because it’s not like I got on the scale and was all giddy and excited to eat like a fat horse. My plan isn’t to regain everything that I had just lost. I can’t control it. Most of the time when I eat, I’m not hungry. It’s an addiction. Yes, call me crazy, and fat, or just crazy fat but people can be addicted to food! Food is there, so I eat it. You can’t tell an alcohol addicted meth head that they have to stop all their bad habits in an instant. It takes time, and learning. While I know it’s already been seven months since surgery, I still struggle with my addiction, daily. It’s too bad they don’t make rehab for fat people who struggle from food addictions. I strongly believe that people on the outside truly believe that we fat people choose to eat ourselves sick, and to binge eat. It’s not like that, I can promise you that. While I know Hefty Helga has died, part of her still lives on in my mind, and will forever.

It’s so hard to be addicted to something that we are subjected to everyday. We need food to survive, and it’s everywhere I go! No matter how much I try to walk away from food, it surrounds me; whether it comes from passing the vending machine,  or hearing the disgustingly loud people around me chewing like horses etc. I’m supposed to train myself, and to learn that food is for eating, and not an activity to take up when I am bored. Do I really want to be that girl one day who introduces herself and says “Oh Hello, I’m Hillary. Nice to meet you. I’m a professional eater. What do you do?” Like seriously.  As sick as it sounds, sometimes I wish I had another addiction. Maybe being addicted to some of those Breaking Bad drugs wouldn’t be the greatest thing for me, or my teeth, but maybe it would make me forget about food. Food really doesn’t make me feel anything. I used to feel satisfied during and after binge eating, but now I find myself feeling sad, and depressed after I’ve eaten something I know I shouldn’t.

One thing I’ve started doing, is making new friends. I’ve made new friends with my stomach. After I eat something I shouldn’t, I lift up my shirt, and stare at the scars. I look at the scars, which help me in reminding myself how I got here, and what I plan to accomplish. Eating a bag of chips won’t help in shrinking those scars, eating because I’m bored in general won’t help shrink the scars. The only thing that will help shrink the surgery scars, is me. Chips, chocolate, cookies, ice cream etc, are all parts of my life that really have no place there. They are not wanted, and there is no need for it. I’ve told myself so many times; “Eat to live, don’t live to eat”, it’s so easy to say it, but so hard to do.

And for the five hundredth, and hopefully last time, I say this: No More Excuses. I get on the scale, and I be proud that I’ve accomplished a two pound weight loss. I get on that scale, and instead of marching my fat bottom to the fridge, I walk it out the door, and for a walk (not to the ice cream store).

 

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She’s Just Pleasantly Complaining


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I wish I understood why some people “absolutely love to work out”. Like seriously, for you people that love the brutal pain that comes with it everyday, I have a lot of questions for you. Let’s sit down and talk about it over a large bowl of chocolate brownie ice cream with whipped cream, k thanks. Last night, I went in for my weekly crossfit routine. Ugh, just thinking about it just gives me the chills. My Crossfit boyfriend (well he’s not really my boyfriend, we just have a secret love affair that no one knows about. Except it’s not really a love affair, he just pushes me to work out, and I really like the positive encouragement) is super nice to me, and really pushes me to work out as best I can. Celeste and I really get a kick out of it when he mentions that it’s not a squat unless it’s “ASS TO MAT!”. Ugh, I’m getting the chills again just thinking about last night– not in a good way. After I left class yesterday, I was so happy that I had accomplished it. Walking up the stairs was quite the challenge, but I thought that it would get better. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

So here it goes, if you will not attend an ice cream binge session with me,  I have a lot of questions for you, Gym Mice…

1) Do you like not being able to sit down on a toilet regularly? Like does it feel good when you need to hold on to the walls, and sit down slowly like you’re about to lose your legs?

2) Do you sometimes fantasize about cutting off your legs? I do. Like today. Everytime I get up, I walk like there’s a dead cat up my bum.

3) Is it normal to sweat from parts of my body that I didn’t know existed? I have found new places on my body that are very new to me. In those places, I find puddles of sweat, hope this is normal, because to be honest, I’m really not in the mood to wait in my doctors waiting room again.

Now, I know that working out is fantastic, and it really helps with the weight loss journey, HOWEVER, these three questions are specifically directed at the people who like to be in daily pain! I’m just a confuzzled ball of fat, so can someone please answer my three teeny tiny questions?

Above, was the angry fat girl complaining. Now, the healthier me is talking and damn I hate that pain but I know it’s worth it in the end. I wish I could go to Crossfit every day, but like you know, I’m not Bill Gates or anything. I’ve decided that I will start a charity for the poor, and unhealthy like me. Donations for Crossfit For The Pleasantly Plump and Pleasantly Poor , can be sent directly to me.

My Constant Battle


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Obviously with weight loss surgery, comes struggles and battles. Battles such as, losing weight in general, learning to love yourself, making the right choices, not going to restaurants etc. Right now, my biggest battle is dealing with that dreadful question that every person asks me. Showing off my weight loss, and broadcasting it for the world to see, I am clearly asking for questions, and remarks etc, but sometimes, that one question just brings me down.

“How many pounds are you down?”. Why does everyone care about the number of pounds? To be honest, the number of pounds lost, is the least important part of the whole journey. We’re trained to think that the number lost is the most important part of a persons weight loss journey.  If you want to ask important questions, and receive positive replies from me, or anyone losing weight for that matter, you can ask questions like: “do you feel good about yourself?” , “are you happy?” , “do you notice a difference?”, other questions and comments about how great I look and how beautiful I am are really appreciated as well. While my weight loss number may not have changed in the last month, my pant size has decreased, and my confidence level has increased. The scale is an evil tool that really only helps in bringing you down. Why should we care about the number? What’s so important about it? If I’m getting on the scale, and notice that I’ve lost two pounds, I’m going to treat myself, because I’ve lost. Had I not known about this little two pound weight loss, I would have continued on my merry little way and not treat myself to any treats. I’ve gone from the morbidly obese category, to just plain obese. That is HUGE! That’s an accomplishment in itself.

I personally feel that whenever someone asks me how many pounds I lost, I get discouraged. In my mind I think, “only xxx pounds lost in 6 months?, that’s terrible, you could have done so much better”. But I know that when I look at pictures, and when I see myself in the mirror, it’s more than just the number. Muscle weighs more than fat, and if I’m going to the gym 4+ times a week, obviously my weight loss will be less than a person who wouldn’t be working out.

Maybe some people don’t know, maybe it doesn’t bother anyone, but personally I think that this “number” is really an unimportant part of the whole process. I am proud to say that I am happy where I am. I am proud with how far I’ve come, and I’m proud to say that I’ve met my goals. I may be taking my time, but at least I can proudly say that I haven’t gained a single pound in six months!

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6 months post op. Side shot.

Mannequins


Today is May 21st and I am still fat. I put an anorexic mannequin on my desk to remind myself everyday what I want to be. I don’t want to be a mannequin, because in reality, I would still like my limbs and my gorgeous head. But I would like that figure.

I’ve started this new thing, where I’ll just be drinking water. All day. I just started today though. So far it’s good. I have visited the peepee palace around 15 times and I’m loving it.

PS. The scale moved. I am at 212 and have 13 more pounds until ONEDERLAND

Rubber Ducky, You’re So Fine.


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As a child, I remember thoroughly enjoying bath time. It could have been due to the fact that I was able to go swimming in my own effing house, or the fact that I was able to splash everywhere, thinking I was making a mess, but in reality, I was just helping with the cleanup. I remember this one time, when Duffy and I took a bath together, he pooped in the bathtub and then started to cry. I don’t think I was supposed to tell anyone that story. Happens to the best of us, sorry Duff!

Over the years, I’ve grown to not liking bath time so much. As hot as I make the water, I still end up freezing my little tush off. I could blame the size of the bathtub, however, I have decided to blame myself, for the first time ever. I can’t remember the last time my entire body was able to be submerged into a bath all at once. When I try though, I need to stick my legs in the air, and then try to dunk my whole body. That doesn’t really work out, because the second I need to get up, my bath becomes a giant wave pool and before I know it, my entire bathroom has been flooded- lets just say the Asian family below me isn’t so happy. This past weekend, I tried to do a little experiment, and try to figure out how to take a real bath like a real human being, and really enjoy myself. After a lot of thinking, pruney hands, and ice cold water, I had finally figured it out. The only way I was able to do this was to lay flat on my stomach with my arms by my side and dunk my head under water. This was a sight to be seen… or not. Getting up was a challenge, and took a good five minutes.

Instead of having goals for myself, like I want to wear this pair of jeans, or to lose five pounds, my goal for this year is to immerse my entire body in a bathtub and enjoy my bath like I used to as a child. Except, maybe I won’t invite my brother to take a poop.

My Promises


I promise to not change the person that I am on the inside.

I promise to not let my looks get in the way (no matter how good or cocky I feel)

I promise that just because I’m changing the way I look, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to become a terrible, mean girl after I feel better about myself.

On that note, I promise not to be a bad friend, and to maintain friendships with people who were always my friend, even when I was fat(ter).

I promise not to neglect the friends that supported me while I was fat(ter), and leave them for the new skinny girls that make me feel super popular.

I promise to be the best daughter, sister, girlfriend, pet owner, and friend to everyone close to me.

I promise not to closet eat, and if I want to eat, I will do it in front of the world.

I promise to not lie.

I promise to work out at least 3x a week

I promise to be myself. If you don’t like it, too bad, leave me alone.

I promise to maintain my weight loss goals no matter how hard it gets.

I promise to love myself.

Face Meets World


Today, I am not plump. Today, I am smaller. Today I feel fantastic and today I feel great. I feel like people look at me now because they genuinely think I’m pretty, and want my good looks. I also am quite confident that people are now laughing with me and not at me. I am comfortable walking out of my house in my outfit knowing that it is TOO BIG, or just looks plain normal on me. I am comfortable with me.

I have gotten, not one, but two compliments today! Morris Levenstein told me that every Monday when he sees me, that I’m a different person, and another co-worker told me that I looked pretty today! Like HELLO!, I wasn’t wearing any makeup, and I didn’t blowdry my hair (sorry Mom!)- what do you see that I don’t see, super nice awesome complimenting co-worker?  I’m pretty without trying? OMG! It’s a miracle. Tell me more! More nice compliments please! Those people who told me I was pretty, and that I had a pretty face hidden under my fat were right! My face is coming out from hiding! Welcome face, I think it’s time we have a welcome home party for you. It’s time to celebrate, because you’ve been suffocating under cheeseburgers and chicken nuggets for far too long.

Today, I love me, and I hope to love me more every day a little bit more.