Yes, that's right. I didn't fall off the face of the earth or into a crevasse somewhere in Idaho. Whether there is still anyone out there reading is another question, but onward I will go.
It's mid-August now and unlikely there are any beach days left, but should there be, I am there. Not having gone all summer I feel a distinct lacking both in my pallor and number of times I put on the swimsuit purchased in May that no longer fits well. If you're wondering where I've been, it's in part laziness, part lack of notable things to say, and part real life distraction. I spent the better part of the summer, and a month or so leading up to it preparing for the legal equivalent to water boarding, the bar. That is all I'll say about it here and hereafter because a jinx is a terrible thing.
It's been a tumutulous summer; the kind that makes you re-examine your life and wonder if you're better off living in a hut in Tibet or selling crafts on some dodgy street in Peru; in other words, hiding away from the world. Not counting the fray and subsequent discord that very nearly undid a year and a half relationship, a few weeks before the bar (great timing) I was told by someone so inconsequential to my life it's ridiculous that I appeared to be around the "2" mark. How this conversation got started isn't particularly germane to this discussion, but he complimented me on my noticeable weight loss before proceeding to slap me with one of the worst insults I've ever received in my life. If I hadn't done an immediate about face proceeded by a shaking of the head in an effort to bleach the remark from my mind, in a single moment I would have allowed this meaningless person to undermine an entire year of work, sacrifice, and gain of an entirely different sort than pounds.
Acceptance is a refined skill. I was filled in May with an extra cc. Promptly complained to Dr. J a month later that I was too tight, but kept it going so I could make it to my one bandiversary. I consistently say that if I didn't lose another pound I would still be content. More than content, happy, with what I've accomplished and where I am in my health and dress size. While that is true, I still march on, wanting more. I suppose that's part of human nature. Having reached my year mark, and sliding on those size 10 (that really needed bolding!) petite pants, a number I haven't seen in as many years and having to look, and then look again to make sure someone hasn't switched the tags I feel I'm at a precipice. A good precipice. A leap forward and away from the person I have been for the last decade, feeling fat and unhappy.
I once read in a satirical book, a woman pronounce herself as having a Doctorate in self-loathing with a minor in using food for emotional control. Jesus was that ever me. Except that instead of writing a book on how to embrace your big fat ass, I opted to finally get rid of mine. I haven't wanted to binge in I don't know how long and I don't sweat my ass off walking to work unless it's 90 degrees out. That's where I am at this year mark. And I am so incredibly grateful to my surgeon, my shrink and the multitude of others who helped me get here.
