Umm. Moving sucks. And this house sucks. And I'm wondering which is worse. I'm thinking moving is worse. I get awfully moody when we move. But I guess I don't have to worry about having even LESS space. I hope.
I went to the gym and now I'm hungry but I'm not eating because when I eat late at night I wake up feeling sick to my stomach and I don't want to eat breakfast. And I weigh more in the morning, which is when I weigh myself. I'm so so so ready to be at my goal weight. I wonder if I will find a new confidence there, being the size of a normal woman, or if the excess skin and my history will still weigh as heavily on my shoulders as weight I lost ever did.
And I'm worried about being naked in front of my Person when I meet him. I've probably said this before and I know lots and lots of people feel this way but it doesn't take away the worry I've painted across my stretch marks and sagging breasts and jiggly belly. These are parts of me. And some things no amount of surgery could ever correct. But surgery couldn't correct my self-esteem anyway. And if someone can't love me as I am now, imperfect and flawed and sometimes ugly, they they aren't my Person anyway, right?
I am beautiful. I can own that now. I've changed my body in ways I thought impossible. I am a new person, forged in the fires of my determination and desire. What is there I cannot do now? And I am still everything good about me that I always was. I am joyful and accepting and strong. I am smart and honest and unassuming. And I am new things I never was before. I am active and adventurous and brave. I am so many things that don't fit into one word.
And this face. This face I see in the mirror is so strange. Who would have thought a face could change so much? But this face is more confident. And I like it. I'm happy with the shape of the jaw and the eyebrows and the neck it sits upon. I can wear it with pride. My face. Its mine and I made it so.
But still I worry. I guess its a worry born out of years of disinterest from the opposite sex. It is a worry nurtured by my own self-hatred and loathing. It is a worry that thrived in my complete inability to even speak, to even try. But I'm trying now. And I'm learning the worst thing in the world is not rejection. The worst thing is not being brave enough to say anything in the first place. And wondering. Always wondering.
I feel all kinds of good right now. It might be from the running. Gotta love endorphins. I think there's crack in my peanut butter.
Its amazing how talking on the phone with a friend, however brief, can heal the wounds of the day. I feel so much better now, having had my girl time for the night.
I'm so disorganized and its late and I should stop eating this delicious, delicious organic peanut butter. Right now.
If you're actually reading this, you are probably a person I love. So, um, I love you!