Thanksgiving

It's the one day out of the year that binge eating is encouraged.

I inhaled food with my husband's family this year, all the while contemplating that THIS is the last holiday in which I will eat until I pass out.

What will next year be like? A bite here? A nibble there? Will everyone else notice that I'm eating off a saucer rather than a serving tray-sized plate?

I don't know. Maybe. Probably.

But I bet the chair won't squeak under my weight either. I won't have to sleep and shower down stairs because my arthritis is so crippling that I cannot climb the giant staircase.

Will I be able to do Black Friday shopping? Chase my niece and nephew around on the floor?

Yes. Yes, I will and that is a win.

1988

Me: Momma, why did God make me fat?

Momma: He also made you stronger than everyone else. He knew you could handle it.

Now that is what you call a pretty fucking awesome answer.

Horrified

I'm not sure how exactly to start off with what I'm trying to say here. Except that I'm a little bit horrified. Horrified seems to be the only word that comes to mind. Horrified. Horrified. Horrified. Horrified that I am admitting these things to the entire world. Embarrassed that I'm THIS big. Scared of dying. Of being smothered by my own body. Of being too big to even handle this lifesaving surgery and dying while I'm on the operating table. I'm scared I'll miss food, that I'll fail at even this extreme measure because every other died/pill/etc I've tried didn't work. I'm afraid of not having children or my husband not finding me attractive. Of missing more and more trips that I cannot take because I'm too big to get on an airplane. I'm scared I'll never be able to walk to the mailbox at the end of our street or go shopping again because my body is too worn out and I become too exhausted. I'm fearful of waking up every morning in pain because the arthritis I am fighting is so out of control. I'm horrified that my life could be cut incredibly short. Of my heart stopping under the stress of carrying my gigantic body around. Of never hearing my nieces utter their first words.

I'm 31. And I want to see 32.

I'm horrified.

But I'm ready to fight.