Last night, I was out for dinner with Ronnie and Auntie Candy Vagine to wish Duffy a great trip to Thailand. I’m really kind of jealous, now that I think about it- he’s going to be eating the best food for the next two months, and be losing weight too. Lucky kid. Anyway, while I was out, and watching those around me eat, I noticed that I had gotten rid of a problem that was bothering me since I was fifteen years old.
So, Auntie Candy was sitting and minding her own business, when I noticed that a little driplet of salad dressing had fallen off her fork and onto her busty mammary glands. I had advised her and she said in her loudest voice “Oh, those damn titties, always getting in the damn way”. I thought I was in a movie or something, but it actually really happened. It made me think, and I realized that this was a common occurrence in my life, and it had actually not happened in the last little while. I didn’t have boobies for bibs anymore, or maybe I’m just more careful. Who knows?
Let’s backtrack a little actually, I only got those “damn titties” when I turned fifteen. I was flat chested my entire life, and my mom kept asking when I would get them. She was really annoying about it. One day, they appeared. Either I ate something really fattening that got stuck at that part of my body, or my mom said I really HUGE prayer. Anyway. needless to say, those “damn titties” became such a big part of my life… literally. They were always in the way. I hardly fit into Victorias Secret, and I needed to wear those granny bras. Sometimes I thank God that I didn’t have to go so far as to get the bras that had the clasp in the front.
So here is my NSV (non scale victory) I am finally free of the evil boobie bibs! I have never been happier. Ronnie must also be happy, because there is way less laundry for her to do now!
I don’t have control. I cannot stop myself from doing anything. I have a highly addictive personality. Since giving up food, I have become obsessed with scratch cards. I sit at home like a sad old cat lady and scratch cards and play on my TV dinner table, while I pet my dog. This happens every weeknight. Today I bought lunch, and while I tried to eat as much as I could, I found myself ready to puke in my bowl. Why was I trying to do this to myself? Why was I trying to fill up my pouch to its full capacity? Why am I trying to sabotage something, when I worked so hard to get it in the first place? I’m not trying to do these things, it’s all subconscious, but I need to take responsibility for my actions. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that you had weight loss surgery, sometimes it’s easy to fall head over heels in love with your food, and want to shovel it down until you feel sick. Sometimes, though, it goes too far.
Mothers, dentists, doctors, turn away because you’re not going to want to hear what’s coming next. I have made myself so sick to the point that I throw up. Regularly. My teeth have begun to rot, and are now turning black and have stain all over them. Sometimes I need to stop and ask myself if the food is really worth it? Is the food really worth my gorgeous $4000 smile? Is the food really worth my life. I need to put down the fork and tell myself enough is enough.
I like food. Food is fun. Food is not my friend. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve told myself that food is not the enemy, and that we need food to live not live to eat food. I can tell myself that crap over and over again, but it still won’t change my old habits.
The only thing that actually helps me is looking in the mirror, and noticing a difference, and being able to walk up the stairs and not be out of breath, to take Genius for a walk and want to go for a thirty minute walk, instead of a thirty second walk. When I can complete a class of Crossfit, I want to continue putting down the fork at the right time, I want to look in the mirror and feel confident.