Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Mirror, mirror on the wall

It wasn’t that long ago that looking in the mirror was horrifying for me. I would avoid it at all costs. When I had to look in one, I’d focus on one thing like my hair if I was fixing it or my teeth when I brushed. Looking anywhere else caused too much pain. I knew I was fat, and hated myself more and more everyday when nothing helped me lose, looking in the mirror only made it worse. It was honest and knowing I was fat and admitting I was fat was one thing, seeing I was fat was much harder to handle. Once the happy pills kicked in I was finally able to look in the mirror and see myself and not the ugly crone that had appeared before. I finally saw how fat I was, and I didn’t like it but I could admit that ignoring it wasn’t helping. Even when I started losing weight I didn’t notice a difference in the mirror. I noticed my face; I focused on that only, as much as I possibly could. When I did dare to glance down, nothing looked different. I knew it had to be different, my clothes were smaller, the scale said lighter yet I didn’t see it. The hubby and others kept telling me how “small” I was getting, I did not look small and I hated it when people said it because if it was true then why wasn’t I seeing it. Then the hubby started saying things that even now doesn’t seem so amazing, but the sound in his voice and the way he looks at me says it is to him. Like the fact that he can put his arm completely around my waist. While shopping he has always put his hand on my waist or held my belt loop, I do the same thing if he has the cart. Now he has his whole arm wrapped around me. I have to admit I love it that he does this, and it isn’t only when we’re shopping, whenever we walk side by side he does this, and even when sitting on the couch. He acts like it’s a huge accomplishment; I still just smile and say ok honey because I don’t think it’s big. Since we moved in together he has pulled back the shower curtain when I was in the shower and made some comment on how sexy I was while smiling mischievously. I have always laughed and slung water at him and called him sick. It’s our morning ritual. But lately when he says it with that smile, his eyes travel more; his voice is lower, less playful, more sexual. Before it would just be playful and something cute he liked to do, but now, now I want him to get into the shower with me and do to me what his eyes say. I have never doubted that he found me sexy or beautiful, because his eyes have always told me the truth, but now it’s more intense. I don’t feel ashamed or hurt that he didn’t do this quite as much before, I feel good that he is doing it now. I feel like things have changed and the little things he does now just proves it.

So today before my shower, knowing he’d probably scare me once again by yanking the shower curtain back, I stood in front of the mirror and really truly looked. There is looking and then there is looking. I would see the stretch marks or how fat my thighs were, I would see the lovely belly pooch or how my once nice ass has deserted me for something less perky and round. Before my head could get ugly I told myself that my jeans are smaller, my weight is much better and people are telling me left and right how great I look, that I have to see what they see. If there had been a camera in there I’m sure people would get a good laugh at me turning slowly in a circle with a look on my face that most people get when shopping for a car. Every time the words stretch mark or fat entered my mind I reminded myself on what was better, like the fact that I am now a size 8. Yippee skippy! I graduated high school an 11 Jr. which I still have some of those jeans and they fall off, FALL OFF PEOPLE. Ok so there I was naked, turning in circles and I noticed SOMETHING. My belly pooch is gone, well mostly gone but compared to what it was it’s GONE. Turning sideways showed me just how GONE it is, you can barely see it. My butt is smaller and damn near close to what it once was, eeeeee. My arms are smaller, my legs are smaller. The more I looked the more little things I noticed, and the angrier I got. Angry? Yeah angry at the fact that even though I’m seeing changes I still get the thought that I look just as shitty as I did before. Then bam there was that fat ass cow staring back at me in the mirror. How does my mind do it? I stood there with a dazed look on my face because only seconds before my body had looked damn good and now I wanted to go crawl in bed and cry. UGGGGHHHH!

I jumped in the shower trying very hard not to cry, and yelling at myself for being a tard for my imagination. What was the real me? Was it the one that had a flatter tummy than I have had in oh 8 years or so? Or was it the other one, with the fat ass, humongous thighs and a pooch big enough to make a kangaroo jealous? I was so angry that I didn’t notice that the hubby didn’t come scare me until after I was wrapped in a towel and picking out my hair. When he finally came into the bathroom I suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. I didn’t want him to see the hideousness so I rearranged my towel. I glanced up to see him watching me. I don’t know if he did it on purpose or not but his eyes were glued to my boobs for a few seconds before they headed back up to my eyes and he finished his sentence. We talked while he got ready and every so often his eyes would wander. It made me feel better, not much but a little. It did make me a bit brave. So I dropped the towel, put on my new Victoria Secret undies and matching bra. He of course had to comment on the thong, in a very boyish way that made me laugh. The look in his eyes as he watched me was encouragement enough, and I walked out of the room to get my clothes knowing he was watching me leave. When he left for work, he put his arm around my waist and kissed me goodbye. Something about his arm snaking its way around my waist made my insides melt and what was left of that horrible feeling of hideousness disappeared.

Today when I walk by any mirror I look. I look and I just keep reminding myself that I finally weigh 150, which is way out of the obese section, and I’m a size 8. But because I am getting new jeans every month, I’m holding out on buying new ones for the moment. It’s too expensive, the 10’s still fit me and I have more to lose so I’m saving my money for permanent clothes. I have 7lbs left for my next small goal and 15 for my main. And the best part about it is that I am no longer ashamed to say these numbers. No they aren’t fabulous, but they are better than 180 and a size 16.

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