Unicornucopia.org

For the last two weeks or so I've been so happy, thinking about what was
coming and, even though it meant being on protein shakes for a month,
knowing that the continuing struggle was entering it's final stages. I know
that it's something I'll have to deal with for my whole life, but the light
was shining on the hope that soon I would be dealing with it from the
maintenance side rather than the obese side.

Then I called the dr's office today.

The PD, who had seemed so nice, so understanding, so sympathetic...turned
into the worst example of a so-called medical professional that you could
imagine. I felt like I was in the middle of a Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde
adaptation. The tone in his voice almost literally hit me aside the head and
drove every thought of the happiness I'd been feeling away. I spent the rest
of the afternoon trying not to cry, not always successfully. In the truck on
the way home, after asking Shado if he'd seen my earlier entry and hearing
him say yes, then having him rest his hand on my leg for a moment in
support, it hit again. I spent half the ride home either trying to wipe
tears away without being obvious, or fighting them back through sheer
stubborness.

At one point "Dream On" by Aerosmith came on the radio, and the first thing
that popped into my head was "Dreams are lies."

How can I go from being so hopeful one minute to feeling like it's a waste
of time and energy the next. I could feel the cravings starting to stir, and
hear the whispers beginning in the back of my mind. Those voices that
convince us to do stupid things even though we know we shouldn't started
saying things like, "Some ice cream would make you feel better...and an
entire pint would REALLY make you feel better." and "You could just have
something really decadent for dinner. It wouldn't matter. Not any more."

I know that it matters, and I know that ice cream would only be a temporary
fix and that I would feel even worse afterward, but when you're dealing with
emotions, logic rarely comes into play. So...here I sit, counting on my
hubby and my few remaining shreds of dignity to reign in my impulses before
any/too much damage is done.

I could easily lose myself in a pint of Raspberry Truffle right now, though.

Sometimes I wish I could just take a pill and make it all change. I know
that's not realistic, and I know that a lot of work goes into being healthy,
but why? Why does it have to be that way? It's not like I'm completely
inactive like some folks. I DO things. I get out and participate in things.
I mean, how many fat ladies do YOU know that swordfight?

I really wanted it to happen now. I did. I'm in my best physical shape of
the year right after faire ends. I'm already moving, so it's easy to KEEP
moving. And now, I'll bet you, I end up not having it til November. I want
it now! I'm greedy, I'm demanding. I know it. But there are so many things
that I'm looking forward to doing as the New Me, and a lot of them are at
faire next year, and if I lose 4 months then I lose HALF of my weight loss
time. I wanted to be close to goal by the time faire ended, and now I won't
be. I don't care about the fact that it will mean I don't look as good, but
there are so many things I want to do next year at faire. I want to fight, I
want to dance, I want my new character to be light and graceful, a
hummingbird to my Old Self's ostrich.

If this doesn't happen, then THAT won't happen, and while it will only mean
waiting a year it will also mean that I disappoint myself.

I'm so tired of being an ostrich.

*sigh*

That doesn't seem to matter, though. It's not as important as the fact that
I'm interrupting the paperwork that someone is working on ...or whatever it
was that he was so desperate to get back to.

It does prove, yet again, that the fatter you are, the less you matter to
the world in general, though. I'd hoped that the people in this office would
be different, that they would see people like me enough that they would be
aware of what our lives are like. Most of them have been like that, and I
thought he was too when he ran the seminar, but now...now I've discovered
the crack in the patina of understanding.

It's sad.

Anyway, I've probably dwelt on this too long. I'm going to do laundry, read
the Assamite Clan Book, and watch some Babylon 5. Maybe between the two
fantasy worlds I can lose myself for a while and forget about being an
ostrich.