Finally Down

I got on the scale this morning, and I have finally dropped two pounds. I now have lost 35 pounds since January 15. I weigh 215 pounds, and I have 70 more to go. That sounds daunting, until I remember that I once had 105 pounds to lose.

I have dropped three dress sizes. Bones are appearing where no bones have been seen for years. As I keep saying, I am far from thin, but I am thinner than I was. I'm calmer about it than I was in the beginning, but at the same time, I'm wondering what life will be like further on the weight loss path.

I was convinced that I was overweight because I like food, I like the taste, the texture, all of it, of food. And I do, but is that all there is? I know that I eat emotionally to some degree. I know that I like the mindlessness of stuffing food into my mouth, I like that feeling. I like sitting down with a bag of chips, I like eating a large quantity of something. I like the repetitive nature of it, to be honest. I like that you can experience that taste over and over and over again. Go back for more and have it reliably be there...unlike people, for instance, who so often have their own things going on.

Last night as I lay in bed, I could feel, for the first time, my ribs against the mattress. It was a very unaccustomed feeling. I still have quite a lot of padding, but I'm starting to feel a little unprotected. I found myself wondering how women who are much smaller and thinner than I am can stand it. How can you face the world with so little between you and it? So maybe, to a certain degree, I was eating, or I became overweight, because I felt I needed a buffer. A little something to provide me with privacy...because, to a certain point, being overweight does provide you with privacy. You are left alone, by men, by salespeople, by lots and lots of the world. You become the invisible woman, part of the backdrop for the birds of paradise of this world. There have to be dowdy, middle-aged, overweight women around, so that the slender young ones can be noticed, right?

Well, that's exaggerating, of course, but it is sort of the truth. But then there's another reason, more deep-seated, I think, that I may have been hiding behind my weight because of.

Let me see how I can put this, without sounding like the part of my anatomy that most needs to shrink is my head, or my ego. I have a big personality. I like to flirt. I like to make men notice me. When I have it going on, I have it going on, even if I'm not Kate Moss, Gwyneth, or the bean-pole of your choice. Even at 250 pounds, I could get it going on, at least to some extent. I concentrated on boobs and legs and figured everything in between could just, literally, fade to black. Well, as I get smaller, or more closely fit society's stereotype, I can have it more and more going on. (No, I'm not Stacy's mom, either). I have a particular style, so I don't really attract every single guy out there, and I'm 51, let's face facts, so my days of being a bombshell are probably long behind me, if they ever were--but I can still rock a pair of high heels, and I still have some pretty impressive cleavage, and for the first time in ages, I'm approaching the ratio. So what does that mean? Who does that make me? Will I go out of control? And was I afraid of that all these years? I had my wild days, do I think that I'll go back to them in a size 8? Maybe, maybe. I'm not sure.

I just know that it's a little alarming to be out there in the world without my personal wall. Maybe that's why I'm growing my hair...I still need something to hide behind.