The day before
So it’s the day before I get recharged, remade, blabbedy blah. Or the day before doomsday. Depends on how I feel tomorrow really. Perspective really is everything. We had our measurements and our weigh in done yesterday. I’m looking at 20 pounds. I remember before I had my gastric bypass surgery I ate a profound amount of food. You know, everything was a last meal. Well, I have a pouch now, about the size of an egg. So even though I have the brain of an addict that wants to eat everything in front of me, I don’t have the actual ability to do so. Thank God. But the desire is overwhelming. I’m thinking of buffets, pizzas, cookies, all plurals you may notice. Again, thank God I can only eat so much. Which is why I had surgery to begin with. Outback cheese fries sounds good, Too bad they’re not open for breakfast. That’s just wrong. Looking over the shopping list, this is how a bariatric patient is supposed to be eating. So I shouldn’t be whining. It’s just my addict side talking. I don’t want my go to foods taken away. I could always choose not to do it. And then I could always choose to walk down the road of self-loathing. I remember at 360 pounds rolling my eyes at friends who just wanted to lose 20 pounds. Losing any amount of weight is incredibly tough. And keeping it off takes remarkable commitment to yourself. It’s often a lot easier to take care of everyone you care about and let your own health and well-being get overlooked. What I came to realize years ago was even though cheese fries initially made me happy. Blissfully so if they had enough bacon on them. Being able to walk into my closet and know that I could wear everything in there made me happier. Right now, these extra 20 pounds are preventing me from doing that. So tomorrow or Tuesday, when I’m kvetching about the loss of a carb–remind me I said that, OK?