Friday, August 13, 2004

Will you still feed me when I'm sixty four

My apologies to Paul McCartney for absconding with one of his song lyrics but it seemed oddly apt to my thought process today, especially since I grew up listening to the Beatles rather a lot (well, the Beatles and Arlo and Woody Guthrie but song lyrics about motorcikles (yes, that is an intentional spelling)don't seem as appropriate). Anyway, I was thinking about the difference between me now and me at my highest weight, which led to a logical question, do I like myself today because of all the work I have done or because I am skinnier? I don't know, maybe it is a little of both but that seems like something of a cop out. I know I didn't like myself at 242 lbs, I can look at pictures and remember the self-loathing that often engulfed my mind and how I hated my body. Not that I admited that fact, denial is a large river in Egypt and I was the queen of it, riding up and down in my nift little papyrus raft of excuses and self validation. My motto at the time, when in doubt deny that you have a problem and sneak out for ice cream. Now, I can't deny the damage I did over time to myself, I see the stretch marks, I have the bat wings under my arms to prove it and probably another 6 months of work before I reach my goal weight. Still, I'm happier than I've been in years and I have a sneaking suspicion that part of it is because I have bought into the belief that thin equals happy, falacy though that may be in reality. I like that my body is strong, that when I look in the mirror I see my real face with cheekbones, occasionally acne flareups not withstanding. I don't know if my happiness comes from the discovery that I can be strong or because I no longer have to be strong in the same way, I don't get looks in stores or on streets, I don't worry that I will reach a size where the nice airline stewardess insists on giving me a seat belt extender, and I don't have to deny anything anymore. So, how much of all this is because I am skinny and how much is because I finally looked at myself in the mirror and started dealing with the problems I had created in my own life. I don't know, maybe I never will, and maybe that is okay. Maybe happiness and peace are hard enough comodities to come by that I should enjoy them while they are here. Oh, and no worries I will still be feeding myself when I am 64 and hopefully liking whatever I see in the mirror regardless of reason or self analyization.

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