I'm A Loser Baby...
I had big plans this year…
Since my surgery was almost 6 months before our 1st anniversary, I was hoping that by the time it came up that I would be small enough to fit into the whirlpool tub that will be in our room at the hotel that I wasn’t able to fit into at the time of our wedding last year. With the date a little more than a week away, and me sitting uncomfortably at 13 pounds above my goal for that date, I don’t think it’s going to happen.
I wanted to go to Valley Fair this year during the summer to celebrate but it doesn’t look as though there is going to be anything to celebrate. I’ve been stuck on this fucking plateau for about 3 weeks now, which is the longest one I’ve ever had and I’m sure that at some point I will start losing again (or at least I hope so) but I doubt I’ll lose 13 pounds in 10 days and I really doubt that I’ll be small enough by May (or June for that matter) to ride any rides this year (ever?).
Fuck me. I had forgotten what this was like, or at least I’ve been able to shove it to the back of my mind for the last 6 months. Since my surgery, I have had blessedly pain free days. Every single thing in my life since October 25th, 2005 has been centered around the fact that I was getting smaller. Riding the bus, trying on new clothes, sitting in chairs, crossing my legs, seeing and feeling bones emerge. I have been shielded from any and all disappointments where my size was concerned. Everything has been going in the other direction. I have been pleasantly surprised at every single turn. Hell…I’m wearing a shirt today that my mother bought me probably 10 years ago that I could never wear. I had to take the tags off this morning.
But now these things are looming over me, putting 113 pounds of ugly, self loathing, oppressive weight back on my shoulders. I’m thinking about the hotel, about the park, and preparing myself for disappointment. And that would be all well and good. But there is this tiny little piece of my 34 year old brain that never got past the age of 6. That tiny little piece is too stupid to expect the disappointment, the pain. That tiny little piece expects that even though mommy and daddy cannot afford to put food on the table it doesn’t matter because Santa Claus is real and he’s coming this year and it’ll wake up on Christmas morning to find lots and lots of presents under the sad little tree in the corner. That tiny little piece of my brain to too innocent not to hope. And that is what is making this pain come back. Because I cannot help it. Even though I know I’m not going to fit in that tub, and I know that I’m not going to fit on those rides, that tiny little fucking piece of me is hoping against hope that it won’t be true. And no matter what, I cannot convince it otherwise. So while I’m attempting to convince myself that it isn’t going to happen, that these things won’t be possible and trying to prepare ahead of time so that the pain is gone by then, that little light won’t die. And I want it to. I don’t want to remember what this feels like, I want to be free of it. I want instead to have that wonderful feeling of surprise like I had in the dressing room the first time I tried on a pair of size 26 jeans and they fit and they were even a little big. I want to cry for that feeling, not for the feeling that no matter what I’m always going to be too big. Because I’ve always been too big. That nothing is going to change, not really.
Yes, I realize it’s only been 6 months. Yes, I realize that in all likelihood I’ll continue to lose. But the thought that is causing this pain is that no matter what, I’ll always be too big. Even if I hit my own goal of 199, I’ll still be too big. Because I don’t remember 199 being thin, or even ‘normal’. I remember it being bigger than everyone else and I remember it being hard to sit in normal chairs and I remember it being not enough.
Do thin people realize how lucky they are? To not have every single decision you make every day have to involve consideration over whether or not it will be physically possible? Do post-ops at goal (or even anywhere near it) realize how lucky they are? Do you think about it every minute of every day? Or does it eventually just fade into the unconscious background of “Everyday Life”? Yah, I know I did this for medical reasons…I know I did this because of this medical thing or that medical thing or blah blah fucking blah. I did this to be normal dammit and right now I don’t think I ever will be.
I don’t want advice about my plateau. I don’t want to know how much protein you’re eating, or how much water you’re drinking or how long you spent at the gym today. I don’t want “chin up!” type comments.
I want to know that somebody else had this happen. I don’t want to know that “it goes away” because I’m sure that it will. If you want to share something personal about what I’ve written, that’s what I want. I want to know if it happened to you. I want to know if for ‘x’ amount of time everything went great and then you were ‘slapped’ with the fact that something didn’t go so great.
I want right now to not feel alone because that’s what I feel.
Since my surgery was almost 6 months before our 1st anniversary, I was hoping that by the time it came up that I would be small enough to fit into the whirlpool tub that will be in our room at the hotel that I wasn’t able to fit into at the time of our wedding last year. With the date a little more than a week away, and me sitting uncomfortably at 13 pounds above my goal for that date, I don’t think it’s going to happen.
I wanted to go to Valley Fair this year during the summer to celebrate but it doesn’t look as though there is going to be anything to celebrate. I’ve been stuck on this fucking plateau for about 3 weeks now, which is the longest one I’ve ever had and I’m sure that at some point I will start losing again (or at least I hope so) but I doubt I’ll lose 13 pounds in 10 days and I really doubt that I’ll be small enough by May (or June for that matter) to ride any rides this year (ever?).
Fuck me. I had forgotten what this was like, or at least I’ve been able to shove it to the back of my mind for the last 6 months. Since my surgery, I have had blessedly pain free days. Every single thing in my life since October 25th, 2005 has been centered around the fact that I was getting smaller. Riding the bus, trying on new clothes, sitting in chairs, crossing my legs, seeing and feeling bones emerge. I have been shielded from any and all disappointments where my size was concerned. Everything has been going in the other direction. I have been pleasantly surprised at every single turn. Hell…I’m wearing a shirt today that my mother bought me probably 10 years ago that I could never wear. I had to take the tags off this morning.
But now these things are looming over me, putting 113 pounds of ugly, self loathing, oppressive weight back on my shoulders. I’m thinking about the hotel, about the park, and preparing myself for disappointment. And that would be all well and good. But there is this tiny little piece of my 34 year old brain that never got past the age of 6. That tiny little piece is too stupid to expect the disappointment, the pain. That tiny little piece expects that even though mommy and daddy cannot afford to put food on the table it doesn’t matter because Santa Claus is real and he’s coming this year and it’ll wake up on Christmas morning to find lots and lots of presents under the sad little tree in the corner. That tiny little piece of my brain to too innocent not to hope. And that is what is making this pain come back. Because I cannot help it. Even though I know I’m not going to fit in that tub, and I know that I’m not going to fit on those rides, that tiny little fucking piece of me is hoping against hope that it won’t be true. And no matter what, I cannot convince it otherwise. So while I’m attempting to convince myself that it isn’t going to happen, that these things won’t be possible and trying to prepare ahead of time so that the pain is gone by then, that little light won’t die. And I want it to. I don’t want to remember what this feels like, I want to be free of it. I want instead to have that wonderful feeling of surprise like I had in the dressing room the first time I tried on a pair of size 26 jeans and they fit and they were even a little big. I want to cry for that feeling, not for the feeling that no matter what I’m always going to be too big. Because I’ve always been too big. That nothing is going to change, not really.
Yes, I realize it’s only been 6 months. Yes, I realize that in all likelihood I’ll continue to lose. But the thought that is causing this pain is that no matter what, I’ll always be too big. Even if I hit my own goal of 199, I’ll still be too big. Because I don’t remember 199 being thin, or even ‘normal’. I remember it being bigger than everyone else and I remember it being hard to sit in normal chairs and I remember it being not enough.
Do thin people realize how lucky they are? To not have every single decision you make every day have to involve consideration over whether or not it will be physically possible? Do post-ops at goal (or even anywhere near it) realize how lucky they are? Do you think about it every minute of every day? Or does it eventually just fade into the unconscious background of “Everyday Life”? Yah, I know I did this for medical reasons…I know I did this because of this medical thing or that medical thing or blah blah fucking blah. I did this to be normal dammit and right now I don’t think I ever will be.
I don’t want advice about my plateau. I don’t want to know how much protein you’re eating, or how much water you’re drinking or how long you spent at the gym today. I don’t want “chin up!” type comments.
I want to know that somebody else had this happen. I don’t want to know that “it goes away” because I’m sure that it will. If you want to share something personal about what I’ve written, that’s what I want. I want to know if it happened to you. I want to know if for ‘x’ amount of time everything went great and then you were ‘slapped’ with the fact that something didn’t go so great.
I want right now to not feel alone because that’s what I feel.