madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- June 27th, 2001 Omigosh, I got my first complaint from a reader yesterday that says: �This email comes with a complaint. There's one thing that bothers me about your web journal - you aren't writing every day! I can understand the whole "I only have an internet connection at work so I can't post on Saturday and Sunday" thing. I don't like that either, but can make allowances for it. But what about Monday through Friday? Now there are five perfectly good days and you can post on each and every one of them. And I will cover my ears and start "la la"ing if the reason is actually having to *work* while at work. That's never stopped me from *reading* your site. :)� That vicious complaint comes from a very sweet reader, Sarah. Who, by the way, completely made my day! Thank you, girl! *************************************** Lane Bryant called my name this past Saturday. Heaaatttthhhheeeerrrrr.....Lane said, in an alluring, haunting voice that demanded my attention. I�ve been holding off going there. After all, do I really need to spend money on clothes right now when I�ll be shrinking out of them in a few months? My head said, �NO!�. My checkbook screamed in agony, �NO!�, stifling the whimper of my Lane Bryant credit card who had not seen the light of day for years. But my heart said, �Oh, go ahead....you deserve a little sumpin.� I listened to my heart. So, I made the trek to the mall on a Saturday afternoon. It was packed with shoppers of all ages, especially teenagers and clean cut yuppie Gap couples. (okay, so I would secretly LOVE to be able to fit into something from the Gap...but for now I can just make fun!) After riding the escalator down to the first floor, my feet took over. They directed me the way a hound-dog�s nose directs him to the coon in the tree, 30 ft up. I had, after all, walked that path many times in previous years. My pace quickened, and I briskly wove in and out of mall traffic huffing loudly when someone ahead of me slowed me down. Just a few more steps, and I was there. I stepped in the front door, smelling that familiar new clothes smell and eyeing the �Summer Closeout� sale sign. Then I was off, searching through sizes. I flew through sale racks, stretching shirts between my arms, trying to judge whether they would fit or not. It was amazing, the amount of ground I covered in those first few moments....it boggles the mind. Nothing in the sale racks, damn! I moved to the regular clothes. Skirts - too tight. Pants - too small, couldn�t even get them up over my ass. Shirts - too short to cover my stomach! Desperately, I headed towards the pajama section. Thong bikini underwear glared at me, with a grimacing smile, while underwire bras mocked my fleshy chest. Then it dawned on me. I couldn�t wear anything in this freakin� store!! I made a final once-around trip, just to make sure. But to no avail, it wasn�t happening. I left Lane Bryant, totally crushed. I cursed my size 26/28 bathing suit I�d just purchased from Target. It MADE me think I might be able to wear a smaller size. I should�ve known better. Feeling totally frustrated, I got in my car and headed home. My stomach hurt, my head hurt. Of course my checkbook was doing a jig, but I was absorbed in anguish. I had felt this way for so many years, so many times. It was a curse that I thought might�ve been broken. I had, after all, lost 70 pounds!! Didn�t that count for something?? I slowed down at the traffic light, realizing that hot tears were streaming down my face. The Taco Bell signed loomed out at me. That was my old ritual. Look for clothes, find nothing, eat Taco Bell on the way home to feel better. I had sat in the parking lot, alone, on so many occasions. It was my comforter. But I drove past it. I was worth more than that now. I could never deal with things the same way again. Taco Bell couldn�t comfort me anymore. I was different, I had to be. I went home & called my mom who lives in another state. She listened while I told her my story in between uncontrollable sobs. Over and over I asked her, �Why? Why did I let myself get so fat, mom?� She consoled me, and tried to assure me that everything would change soon. She gave advice and even offered to make some clothes for me if I could find a pattern that fit. That didn�t matter to me. Her voice was all I needed then. I absorbed the soothing sounds of my mother�s voice, and let her calm me. I finally stopped crying, wiped my tears, and sank into the comfort of her. My sadness subsided, and the conversation became lighter. I don�t know why I ever turned to Taco Bell, I thought. There�s nothing like a mother�s love to heal and nurture. The moral of the story? Well, I�m not a damn size 26/28 yet! And I won�t consider myself one until I can walk in any Lane Bryant and fit into any size 26/28! But although I was torn up about not finding anything, I did find a change inside of me and how I deal with things. The old me would�ve been sitting in that parking lot, gorging. Learning that I won�t allow that to happen again, that was definitely worth the trip. 12:25 p.m. - June 27th, 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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