Today Katharine saw me and told me how much thinner I look. She's the first one. It took 27 pounds, lol.

I don't know. Today I'm ending up with points left, I had trouble consuming them all, though I'm sure a little ice cream will do the trick. Also on Monday I'm going to lose a point, which, honestly, isn't going to bother me at all.

I had a discussion about how profoundly odd I feel with Katharine, who could relate from her other side of the story place, being a former anorexic. It is VERY odd, indeed, and even though I enjoy the feeling of being thinner, it's still weird. So maybe I really am wrapping myself in fat to keep myself safe. Maybe I am buffering myself from the world. Or maybe I just really like Quarterpounders with cheese, or maybe a little bit of both. But as I said today, "Come on! I'm SHRINKING!! Tell me that's not strange." It creeps me out, and always has, that extreme thinness is rewarded in our society. So did I gain weight out of contrariness?

Although, to be honest, food is a drug, but the weight gain is a side effect of the drug, not the goal. And my treat last night was to eat the rest of my enchilada while standing over the sink reading...one of my favorites. It felt good to be "out of control" again, even if it was a controlled out of control.

So here I am. I've lost 27 pounds, putting me at 223. I've started to tell my weight, at least a little. It's not thin by anyone's standards, except maybe a Samoan's, but it's less then it was. I've lost 10% of my body weight. My goal at the moment is 145, but I'm sort of thinking it might be nice to go to 125, which has always been my ideal weight...and is 10 pounds less than I've ever weighed as anything even approaching an adult.

I bought size 18 jeans yesterday. Okay, it was a women's 18, and they were stretch, but they were Levis for the first time ever, and that made me feel sort of good. I tried on a size 18 skirt and it fit, and the Liz Claiborne size 18 "tablecloth" skirt that I've had stashed forever, fits, too. I don't mind those things, and I was pissed when the 18's at Lane Bryant still wouldn't fit, but it's still strange.

Who does this make me? Who am I while I do this? I made my weight part of my identity, because if you don't do that, you're sunk, but now that I'm changing my weight, what does that do to my identity? Who am I? I've been that particular person for so very long that I can't imagine being someone else. It's like when I think about losing M--I've been connected to him for so long now, who would I be without him? And who am I without the weight? And if I'm me, now, 27 pounds later, who was I before? If this is good, was that bad? And if less than this is going to be better, is this bad, too? Not good? Good for now, but not for ever?

And then there's the getting pissed part. It's going to come soon, about when I hit a size 16 (even women's). Men are going to start noticing me again (at least I hope so, at least I sort of hope so, if that makes any sense--because even though it pisses me off, I still like it) and then I'm going to get pissed, because I'm still the same person I was before. Maybe. Maybe not. I am a person now who is able to deny herself immediate gratification for a later good, which is certainly a good thing, but I'm not always sure that self-denial is the absolute best thing, either. When it becomes self-denial for self-denial's sake, then that's not good. But so far I seem to be able to stay away from that. But in any case, I'll get pissed. I'm the same girl I always was, but now I'm worth looking twice at? HUH. Maybe you're not looking twice at. Maybe I'll show you. Maybe I'll just gain some weight and we can see what you're made of. Love me, love my fat. Something like that.


A couple of days ago, maybe a week ago, I was able to bend down in the shower and grab my ankles. I know I couldn't have done that before. Buckling shoes with ankle straps is much easier. My necklace is hanging lower on my neck. (Maybe it will eventually dangle in my cleavage, much to M's delight, I imagine). MY SHOES ARE GETTING TOO BIG. Tell me that's not odd! My proportion in relation to the world is changing. I feel like Alice through the looking glass.

When I weighed myself on Friday morning and found that I had lost 2 more pounds, I had nothing more intelligent to say than "Holy shit." I think I think that each increment of weight loss is the end, I'm going to stop there, be that person, and it will be the end. That doesn't happen. I keep losing, and I will for a while, hopefully, probably, and will until I reach my goal.

If I stop at 145, I'll probably be an 8. That's so scary. I've never been an 8, not even as a teenager (because they've revised the sizes in the time since then). My size 20 skirt will swim on me.