The Fat Me is back.
She's been back for a few months now, hanging around, making me depressed, urging me to just get a supersize order of fries or some Cold Stone Creamery (cake batter with sprinkles). She tries to be my friend, makes it fun to eat crap all the time. She says, "It's summertime! Keep eating all this good stuff. It's fun to go out with your friends and family and eat and drink and be merry. That's what summer is all about!"
I hate her. She's evil, and she's back. She's been here quite a few times honestly. I think she sneaks up when I'm emotional, maybe depressed. Maybe subconsciously, she jumps on board when I turned 40, or when Mr. Manic lost his job, then got his new gig that requires a ton of travel. Maybe the Fat Me suggests that going out for pizza with the kids will make me feel better, and why not get some ice cream afterward? They'll love you if you get them a treat, and hey, you might as well get a treat for yourself too. Cuz you're just not fat enough!
I am now. I can feel it. I know it. My fingers are puffy, everything is puffy. And when I gain weight, it's like a layer begins to cover me. Kind of the opposite of a snake shedding its skin; I grow a new skin all over. And it's got to be a protective layer. A layer to keep me from thinking of the things I don't want to think about. a layer to do what? I'm not sure -- maybe make me miserable? It's there, and it covers everything. I gain it everywhere, and i guess because I do, it's a slow process but then when I realize I have my fat suit back on, I think, Oh shit, The Fat Me is back.
How did she get here? And so quickly? Because she wasn't here at the end of March, when I was still relaxing in my Lifetime Weight Watcher status. She snuck in as I turned 4o in April. And she must have said, "I'll just stick around and see where things go." Things went. As in the scale. It went up.
Today, I woke up and got dressed and drove to Weight Watchers. I haven't been there in four and a half months. The Fat Me was still sleeping, so I took the opportunity to get out of bed and face the music. I wanted to get there early, so I would have some time to speak to the leaders, and so no one from before would see me and say, "Hey, she got fat again."
I went, and I cried. Not hard hot tears, but embarrassed tears. "I can't believe I let myself get this way again," I said to the two leaders. They were kind. They said it happens to everyone, but how is that a good thing if they admit that everyone fails? I know this is like the third time I've failed. I asked her not to tell me what the number on the scale was. I didn't look. I shut my eyes really tight as if I were anticipating a shot from the doctor.
"Tell me when you're done," I said.
It is 15 hours later and I still don't know what number she wrote down, but I know it's not a good number. And I counted points today and was extremely crabby, and I took my new bike out this morning and rode and listened to music, and the first song on my ipod was by Poi Dog Pondering ... This is the day, your life will surely change ... those were the words to the song as I got on my bike and rode.
I hope this is the day, and I hope that I will stay motivated. Because I do not want The Fat Me back in my life.