SassyBlonde

Can I just say that I hate packing?

All day today I've been getting ready for my trip home to Alabama this week. Cat-sitter briefed? Check. Bills mailed? Check. Clarinet practiced? Sorta check. Work finished? Almost check. Toilet scrubbed? Check. Food packed? Check. Checkbook balanced? Check. Clothes packed?

Not even sorta check.

I have this passive-aggressive relationship with my clothes right now. They're all in the size I've been most of my life, and it kinda makes me sick. See, all of my life that I can remember I've been a at least a size 12-14. I can remember when I was in middle school, looking in the juniors section of Penney's at jeans. I was lucky to fit into a 13, if I really tried.

Then a couple of years ago, I had an abrupt bout with the Root Canal Diet, and was diagnosed as diabetic. Through a lot of mistakes made by my doctors, I went on for two years with the erroneous diagnosis of Type II diabetes, all the while shedding weight and trying to stay upright as my body cannibalized itself. At my smallest, I was actually too small for my size 6 birthday dress, and had to have my mom pin up my bridesmaid's dress at my sister's wedding.

Then finally came my doctor's bright idea that maybe the pills weren't working, and he started me on insulin. I'm not kidding when I say I literally put on twenty pounds in two weeks. I grew out of a clothes size every couple of days. Finally my weight stabilized at about 175, still fifty pounds below where I ultimately started from, but forty pounds heavier than when I bought my summer bikini, the first one I'd ever been proud to own. I never even got to wear it at the beach.

Now, I admit that the next twenty pounds are my own fault. I was in school, stressed out, and eating to compensate. I own that, I really do, but that doesn't mean that my pictures from China don't make me cringe.

So that puts us back to where we are now. I'm fat again. When I see clothes on the rack, I automatically go for the largest size they have, hoping it will fit. I wear a lot of yoga pants and tee shirts, because frankly I'm too chubby to wear the cute-girl clothes I really want to buy. What's going in my suitcase is basically stretchy, black, and nothing cut above the knee.

I still remember this time last year, when I stepped on the scale and saw the number where I now unhappily sit. It had been a long time since I actually wanted to curl up and die in a corner, but there was that old feeling again. And what sucks about it-- if I could be sick and skinny or healthy and fat? Definitely skinny. At least I didn't hate myself every time I looked in the mirror.

I actually talked to D about this the other night, because let's face it, we're both in the same boat weight-wise. I basically I told him I've had to make the decision over the last couple of weeks between whether I want to enjoy food or look good, and it took me a long time to honestly answer that I'd rather starve myself and be skinny in the long run. This, you have to remember, from someone who loves to eat like a fish likes to swim and whose favorite section in the bookstore is the cookbook aisle. So there it is, folks. Hi, I'm Starving Sassy, and this is day number four of the calorie count. Hopefully by this time next year that bikini will be back in play.

And before anybody tries to "cheer me on" or "cheer me up", stop right there. I don't want to hear it unless you are in or have been in the same boat. Most people have no idea how hard it is to lose the magnitude of weight I'm looking at in the rearview, and what a daunting task it is, especially for someone who has a pretty mean fucking complication to deal with like diabetes. Seriously, shut the fuck up. I can guarantee that even though I may not look like it right now, I probably know as much or more than you do about weight loss and how to achieve it, so keep your suggestions to yourself. If I want advice, I'll ask my nutritionist or personal trainer, because Alli is for idiots, diets don't work in the long run, and low-carb dieters have nothing on me, brother-- I can do that shit upside down and backwards in my sleep. (It's one thing to have to count carbs to lose a few pounds, but it's quite another to have to do it to stay alive.)

Anyway, this is by way of saying that there may be some serious food-bitching going on here in the future, so be aware. You have been warned-- the fat kid's cake has been taken away, and it's not going to be pretty.