madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 3/11/02 I am not deceived into believe I will ever look, as elegant, as graceful, as poetically beautiful as the woman above in this picture. Yes, I do know how many rolls of film some professional photographer probably spent on getting that shot - so perfect. But even so, notice the length of her fingers. They are a dead give away that she�s lean and long and has always been. Her hair, a length I could never achieve, is black, velvety silk that contrasts the creamy pale color of her skin. The sway of her back as it curves down to her hip which she so delicately balances on with no trace of strain....it leaves me breathless at the metaphorical beauty of it. True balance. I�ve never asked to be her. Never. To be just �good enough� was always my request....to just simply be able to fit in. At 375 I begged to see 299.... I just wanted to be under 300. That�s all that mattered to me. I never dared to look ahead and what COULD be - what the possibilities were. My hope was to be able to fit into a size 26/28 again....that�s all. Then at 299, my perceptions shifted. I wanted to see 275 so bad I could taste it. Surely that had to be the magical number of perfection. I prayed to the Gods that if I could at least see 275, then I would be thankful and happy. I promised to never scoff at my accomplishment, to always give the respect to my efforts that was deserved. I knew that after seeing 100 pounds gone forever, I could then finally feel beautiful and appreciative of my new self. 275 came and went... Now the number, which fluctuates daily, (ya - I know you think I boxed up the scale and hid it in a dark closet. But did you really think I could keep it there? Did you??!? Didn�t you imagine that I would wake up 3 days later - feeling fat as a pig - and rummage through the closet, rip through the cardboard, and free the torture device so I could be absolved of my sins? If you never imagined this - you don�t know me at all...) between 262-263, is my keeper. It holds the secrets to my mood, the power to control my thoughts. I feel like I�ll never be free from it. For all the trying I�ve done to escape the scale - I have absolutely no willpower against it. And I can�t just give it away (after spending $60 bucks on it). And I�ve considered loaning it to a friend, but honestly, who would take it? Who wouldn�t it cause suffering to? Even if I did give it away, wouldn�t I just run to the doctor�s office every morning like I did 8 months ago? My relationship with the scale reminds me of the scene in the Lord of the Rings, where Bilbo Baggins knows he has to leave the ring behind, that the possession of this ring is stirring dark forces inside him that he cannot help but bend to. And even when he promises Gandalf he�ll leave the ring for Frodo, he can�t help but put it back in his pocket anyway. A reflex that is so built-in that its become a part of him. Fingering that ring in his pocket is who he is....without it, his mind won�t rest. I feel this way about the scale. My mind doesn�t rest unless I know where I stand. Someone wrote me yesterday and said, �Who is to say you are not perfect right where you are?� And you should�ve seen the look on my face. I scoffed and laughed and then became exceedingly angry. Then I proceeded to write her back, fingers flying, and basically said thanks but no thanks for your input. I AM NOT PERFECT AT 263!! I am still horrible. Now I look in the mirror and its been so long since the beginning, I can�t remember what it was like to be 375. All I know is that 263 feels like 375 - I�m big as a house. I�m saggy. Places are hanging and my boobs now droop towards the floor. I am a stagnant, stinking pond filled with reeking, thick strings of black goop. This is how far from perfect I am. I need change like I need air to breathe. My house is a mess. I look around and see �stuff�, junk, littering the coffee table, lining the bookshelves. I see books I haven�t picked up since the first year I moved to Portland, and knick-knacks given to me by Grandma - �Goddy� things I�d never choose to decorate my house, but have kept out of sentimentality. The �extra� room has become a tornado of papers, a whirlwind of bike parts, tools, workout equipment, a computer that doesn�t work (despite the $600 my parents sunk into it just a few months ago), cd�s and video tapes, my easel and stacks of unfinished artwork begging to be completed. The closet in there is overflowing with crap....a microwave that burned out over a year ago, a lampshade, boxes of old papers, things we haven�t used or even acknowledged in years. The bathroom has a pile of dirty underwear on the floor, and everything in there is covered with a fine layer of dust. My kitchen is piled with smelly dishes, crusted with enchilada sauce, shreds of dried chicken breast... The floor is filthy. My laundry has piled up in the bedroom & cat hair is beginning to take over the bedspread. Last night, while sitting in the living room, I scanned the house and actually shuddered. I�m too tired, too depressed to clean. And Thomas is spending every waking hour between 8a-5p looking for work, then scouring the paper in the evening, writing cover letters etc. I don�t want to pressure him to clean the whole house too. He has enough on his plate. You all miss me, and want to know how I�m doing. This is how I�m doing. I slept and woke in 2 hour increments on Sunday...then went to bed at 9pm and slept straight through til morning. I�m at work because I have to be, and my co-workers are fucking annoying the hell out of me. I had cheesecake for breakfast yesterday. I haven�t had a single moment to myself in over a week and I�m about as sick of my husband as a person could get. A trip to the grocery store almost pushed me over the edge on Friday - when the 3 for a dollar cans of tuna rang up as a buck a piece. And I didn�t figure this out until Monday, after the cans of tuna were ate. And most of all, I�ve never wanted to run away from my life as much as I do right now. The only reason I haven�t, is because I�m smart enough to know that I�d have to come back sometime....and I�m afraid of what I�d find upon returning. So that�s what holds me to this hellhole - fear. My diet? Well, I�ll tell you a little story. You see, yesterday I went to update my weight chart on this website. I read it over, date by date, and realized something. I was still losing weight. I was NOT on a plateau. I mean, NOW I�m on a fucking plateau because I�ve been consuming more calories and the exercise I�m doing isn�t burning it all up. So yes, NOW I�m on a plateau. But I WASN�T on a plateau. I just hadn�t lost ENOUGH weight compared to the effort I was expending. So, like a child, I threw my hands up and stomped off crying. That�s what really happened. Now I have to lose this 3 pounds all over again because of my little fit. Isn�t it funny how I created my own reality? Its fucking hilarious. I have a dark side, and I know it well, and writing comes easy when I feel so angry and down. I used to write my best poetry when I was in a depression. I promised all of you I wouldn�t write again until I had something good to report. So here it is: my needle in a haystack. I went into Lane Bryant on Saturday, in a desperate attempt that a new dress (on credit of course) would make me feel better. I tried on a 26/28 dress. It fit. I tried on a 26/28 blouse. It fit. I pulled up a 26/28 skirt. It fit....it was a little loose even. Then I went out and randomly grabbed 4 other things and tried them on. All 26/28. All of them fit. So there it is: my gem of the day. I�m officially - AFTER LOSING 112 POUNDS - a size smaller. Whhoopdie fuckin dew.
1:56 p.m. - 3/11/02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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