Today I went on a day trip. And I don't mean the meds-induced kind. It was a great trip ... to Cloud Nine. I love that place.
This morning started out great, because I was going to get the blood taken for the tests that could pinpoint the cause of my weight problems after all these years.
Then we finally got our desk chair (so my dining table chair no longer has to have a kitchen-to-office passport), and it's really REALLY comfy. Perfect for a writer who's just about ready to get back to work.
Then was my mom's house, and though that part of the day was a little tainted with the beginning effects of the Phentermine, that leveled out in a few hours, leaving me energetic and very un-hungry.
It also was the rebirth of hope. And a prayer of Thanksgiving. I have called out and called out to God for most of my life, begging Him to help me, to show me the way to skinny jeans. Until now, I have felt ignored, denied. But my weight? Hated though it is, and has always been, it still is a large part of why I am who I am.
Being the "fat" girl in school ... I didn't get the chance to be shallow. I was the outsider because I was heavy. I learned to like it that way, because I prefer people who base their lives on more than looks. As the "fat" girl, I got a real look at how cruel other people can be, got a look at boys and girls alike, and the different ways each treat you when you are overweight. I learned to judge people's character fairly well, fairly accurately. Being the "fat" girl, I got the chance to develop a real personality of my own, a real flair for being me and not just imitating and following the crowd. And since I spent so much time alone with me in my life ... I've learned to like who I am, even when that called for outgrowing or changing a part of me that I didn't totally agree with.
Do you ever notice how much kinder some larger people are when compared to some thinner people? It's because they know what it's like to be treated like a roach to be stomped on or something invisible to be walked through unseen. And they hate it. So they make a point of not doing it to others. A lot of "thin" people tend to think that they are better, smarter, more worthy of life than the "fat" person sitting beside them. Because they see the fat ... but not the person. But being invisible also gives you a chance to sit back and view the world, since you aren't so much a part of it. It gives you a chance to figure out where you want to be, see what you think is wrong, and maybe ... develop a strategy for "fixing" things.
Being the "fat" girl, I am well-read and articulate ... because I could sink myself into a book and find anything that I could ever need. I could find unconditional love that didn't depend on the scale or the mirror, and I could also find the adventures that my weight made me ineligible for in reality.
But none of that was the point. The point is that in all those years, one constant in my life was my weight, and my struggle to eliminate it so that I could finally see what it's like to be visible, to turn heads, to walk into a bar without knowing that I'm jiggling somewhere I shouldn't be. To be able to go shopping for jeans ... and know that they'll have a size big enough. To go shopping for panties, and know that my panties are no longer big enough to strangle elephants with.
I hated that fat. I still hate it. But more importantly, in all the struggles, I lost my hope of ever getting rid of it. I lost the dream of seeing myself go into a store and come back out in something fabulous, something that was in a single-digit size and didn't have any X's attached. I could no longer close my eyes and picture the thin beautiful girl that is inside this fat body.
Today I may have swallowed pride with that pill. But it was worth it because when I was in the bathroom later, I looked in the mirror before I left ... and I saw her. I saw the thin girl. And she had shiny eyes, curvy hips, a flat stomach, thin legs ... and a smile. A real one. Not one worn because sometimes you just can't help it or because you fake it so that no one knows the truth of your utter emptiness. She wore the kind you wear when there's just so much to smile about. All day today that girl kept making appearances. She kept smiling with my mouth, and she showed me something.
In all this time, smiling just for the sake of feeling good enough to smile, has become so rare for me that when I caught myself doing it, I was shocked. I'd think, "Oh my gosh I'm smiling to myself!" And later, I'd catch me doing it again.
The return of hope is something almost beyond words. It's just a feeling ... but it's so much more than that. Hope is a way of life, and I'm glad to be getting back to it.
Not to mention how nice my feet feel after a repeat of the pedicure I got a few weeks ago ... and a VERY nice goodbye before Fiance left for work ...