The Promise of a "New Eye" View...

A couple of things have come up recently. I've hesitated to write because the muse didn't decide to show up until just now. Making the suitable entrance I suppose. For some reason, I wait for her to whack me over the head with her "Magic Glitter Writing Wand", as if I can't think of anything on my own. The thing about that, though, is that when she does show up, it's not usually that grand an entrance. At least in my eyes. Charlie (and a few kind others) say that's not true, and I didn't need her, or her inspiration, in the first place. It's a matter of positive thought, and then positive DO. With that in mind, I carry on.

First, I think that I should put a warning in place. In all fairness to my darling Pseudo-Daughter, who constantly comes lovingly to my rescue on this subject, I say; Mary, I'm going to talk about Dr. Phil now. Protect your eyes.

That having been said, please lace up your cross-trainers and hop on the treadmill with me. Yes, that's right kiddies! I here and now admit that I caved. I'm a caver. I went and bought his book. His book that I so vehemently debased as merely another "Look at me, I wrote ANOTHER book! Go buy it now followers. And while you're about it, stop and have a cup of kool-aid." publicity stunt last August:

...:: Thursday, September 25, 2003 ::...
The High Priestess is.........ambivalent...

Damn that Dr. Phil. Just when I got to the point that I'm ok with myself, and mind you, it took me forty years to get here, Dr. Phil says that I shouldn't be. I should not be comfortable in my own skin. Because my skin is too large. Well, that just sucks. I wonder out loud if he just wants to sell books. I wonder out loud why my moments of blissful denial are so short lived. I wonder why there are no chips in the house.

Screw Dr. Phil.

I spent my money to find out what the "seven keys" are. Oh don't get me wrong, after all I've been through, I KNOW what the keys are. And yes, it pretty much sticks in my craw that I'm paying for it again. But I'm going to list this expenditure under "Motivation", because dammit, I need some! Though I've been saying the words, "I'm ok with me, I'm ok with me," they never made the actual journey from my mouth to my heart. We all know about my heart. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times; I am a gelatinous mass of emotion.

So, as I have mentioned, I read Mo'Nique's book "Skinny Women Are Evil", and laughed my wide load off over much of it, there were aspects of it that made me increasingly sad. I know she can relate as a large girl and I appreciate her being a cheerleader for us "FAT" (Fabulous And Thick) ladies. But the fact is, now that she's a rich celebrity who can afford anything she wants (and says so), somehow, somewhere along the line, she lost me. Some of it just wasn't funny anymore. I still suffer the angst of an invisible fat girl in a supremely shallow land. More than that, no matter what I say about how I'm coping, I'm not happy.

Now, I haven't gone ga-ga. I bought the book about two weeks ago, and I'm only on Chapter 4, which outlines Key One: "Right Thinking". I've picked it up. I've put it down. I've gone about life. I'm taking it slow. I figure that every other time I've bought the ticket and taken the ride known as "Diet Sucker's Hell," I've gone gung-ho, only to continue to chase the carnival from one town to another. It is an elusive goal, and for someone like me, it always ends in heartache. I've lost LARGE amounts of weight; 40, 50, 60 pounds, and enjoyed the fruits of that labor for very short periods of time. The surprized looks on friends faces when they haven't seen me for awhile, the compliments, the size 10 jeans and sexy black boots. The problem is, after awhile, the fruit isn't enough and I'm diving right back into the burgers and fries. As an addict, that is my drug of choice; food.

So, this time, I'm taking it all in. I'm putting aside my Dr. Phil bias and listening. Slowly. He's saying shit I don't like. But I expected that. He's asking me to do things I don't want to do. Also expected. There is some fear involved, and that makes me angry. It pisses me off that my entire world revolves around my inability to come to grips with something that is so basic to life. I admit it. I don't have a problem admitting it. You can take a drug addict's stuff and he will live without so much as a pill (eventually). You can take an alcoholic's liquor and he will survive (eventually). But you cannot take away food in its entirety. One MUST eat to live. I have learned to live to eat and I must unlearn that. It isn't fair. But it's so much less than other people deal with and I have the chance to reclaim my self-worth. I'm going to take that chance.

Yesterday, for the first time in almost two years, I put away my usual morning routine of self-deprecation and negative self-thoughts and I put on those cross-trainers and climbed on the treadmill. I didn't push too hard, and I put in a half mile. Then, I put in 20 minutes on the Gazelle. Today, I'll do a little more. Just a little. I will stop thinking about the monumental task of losing 100 pounds. I will just work on 3-5 pounds this week and be happy with that. Just a little.

Dr. Phil asked if I would trust him to help me "get it". I'm going to give him that chance. I'm going to give both of us that chance.