Enough of the sneaking around and denial. Today I came to terms that I can’t live without my secret love. I’m tired of making excuses in my mind and to everyone close around me.
Today he came in the form of a Wendy’s Spicy Chicken Sandwich combo meal. Super size. I was the goofy one who ordered a “diet” coke to go with it. I went with Theresa there for our lunch. She was driving and in the passenger seat – as I was carefully biting in that first crispy French fry with my front teeth – making sure not to singe the tastebuds on my tounge, I confessed the truth to Theresa.
“I LOVE eating bad food!,” I stated in a loud manner. “I don’t care anymore about losing weight, I’m tired of living this lie. Eating this kind of food makes me feel happy. It’s like having a secret boyfriend I can’t bear to be apart from.”
“Don’t EVEN go there…” she snapped.
Her words were not registering in my head because I was already rationalizing a plan that didn’t involve sugared and starched deprevation.
“Maybe I could go to that hypnotist I’ve seen on TV,” I thought. “He could trick me into thinking I had just had the stomach bypass surgery. I’ve seen his commericals on in the middle of the night. But if they are on in the middle of the night, does that mean he is a quack? If he was for real, wouldn’t his commericals be on during prime time? Or wouldn’t he be featured in People Magazine with a medical breakthrough or something? Heck, I should just find a way to get the damned surgery and be done with it.”
Last year, the insurance at my work began to cover the procedure. It’s like the diet lottery. You get it and you are magically transformed into a new person with a chance to start all over. Now all the super heavy people in the buidling have gotten it and they are all super skinny – talk about upsetting the balance of the universe! Just think if all the plus-size people got it, wouldn’t that be weird?
Adding insult to injury – I used to be in the middle-weight category at the office, now I feel like the shiny happy Ruben Studdard amongst all the light and airy Clay Aikens.
Once I went to the doctor to get a check up and casually asked about the surgery. He said I wouldn’t qualify because I was at least 50 pounds shy of the required weight to go forward with the operation.
So now, in the car on the way back to work I came up with the perfect plan: I’d gain 50 pounds to qualify for the surgery! I could have a feast every night, just like Renee Zellweger did for Bridget Jones. Krispy Kremes! Burgers, fries! Honest to goodness mochas again, none of this sugar-free vanilla breve crap!
“Wanna go for bread pudding tonight?” I asked Theresa.
“No, you can’t have bread pudding, remember?” she said.
I told her my bright idea and she refused to even digest the notion. She shot me a mean, degrading look of disgust. I felt like a shameless dirty girl and quickly changed the subject. I got back to work, chatted with my friend who gotthe surgery and she gave me the name of her doctor who would most likely approve me.
Until I decide if that is what I want to do, I’m stuck in chunky girl purgatory. Too slim for gastric bypass, to thick to wear my shirt tucked in. I lost 30 pounds, stayed faithful to not cheating, but the scale’s needle hasn’t moved down one millimeter. My patience is running thin (pardon the pun). Maybe I’ll go color my hair bright red or something…Anything to take my mind off of this! It is like constant torture. I’m tired of shopping on – as Theresa calls it – “chunky row; Lane Bryant, Avenue and Torrid, all lined up at the mall. But the sad thing is, I don’t know which feels better – slipping into a sexy, sleek black skirt that is a size smaller or pressing a fork into a gooey warm piece of carrot cake.
Oh! Breaking up with a forbidden love is so hard to do!
* All content/photos copyright, © Kathy Cano-Murillo, 2008.