Lately I have found myself spiraling out of control and I have made the decision to try to fix things. I have formed an unhealthy relationship with…the scale. I weigh myself 20 times a day. Some days the scale moves graciously down, down, down never with an upward spike, some days the scale doesn’t move at all and then worst of all some days the scale creeps up and I beat myself up even though I know I did not do anything to warrant it.
When I went in to see my surgeon for my two week follow up appointment a week and a half ago, I mentioned my “Scaleous Addictiones Maximus”, Scale Addiction in layman’s terms, and his reply was, “Get Rid of It”! My response was, “Are You Insane? I could not possibly, not know what I weigh daily. I have to Know. HAVE TO KNOW! HAVE TO KNOW!” That was the point when the little alien came out of my stomach and did a little dance. I was practically frothing at the mouth. What was he thinking? Does he not deal with fat people everyday? Does he not understand the investment we have made by having this surgery? The daily sacrifices? The mental beatings? Not be able to weigh myself! BLASPHEMY! Blasphemy I say. I smiled at him politely and my mouth said “Thank You for the Advice” and my eyes said “Jackass”. He smiled knowingly at me and his mouth said, “You are a smart girl you will figure it out” and his eyes said, “You are a smart girl you will figure it out”. Hmmm…I think one of us had a little more faith in the other one, than the other one did.
So a week passed. More progress and more beatings followed. His treacherous words began to sneak past my defenses and started making some sort of stupid sense. I began to see the value in his reasoning. I am not saying that I have bought into his evil propaganda wholly; I like to think I am made of stiffer stuff than that. In saying that, I am beginning to suspect that I am really just filled with marshmallow fluff. Ughhh…If I find out after all these years of thinking that I was pretty tough stuff that I am really just a meringue…I’ll just die. :o)
Anyway…as a quasi solution to my unhealthy relationship with the scale I have asked my younger brother to put it in his truck (He lives with me) on Sunday night and to keep it there until Saturday Morning each week. So I can only weigh myself 20 times a day on the weekends. J There will be fewer beatings that way… I can’t just get rid of it, yet. Maybe somewhere down the road but not yet. Baby steps…definitely baby steps. I can honestly say as of today I don’t know what I weigh. I don’t know what I weighed yesterday either. It doesn’t feel as bad as I thought it would and I am definitely looking forward to Saturday. The anticipation helps.
Love ya all out there in the WLS cosmos, Prayers for Kim…Just Jil