When you first realize it.
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Can anyone out there in LBT world remember the first incident that triggered the faint click in your mind? The click that echoes and reverberates through the walls of your brain even after you've lost a couple pounds and have vowed to shut your gob, suck in your gut and face the world without your trusty BigMac in hand (brrrr, scary, I know). It's a very distinct sound. It's different for everyone but recognizable nonetheless.
The click is what you hear when you can no longer endure living in your own skin because basically it hangs too low and threatens to wipe the floors in your wake, causing many janitors to lose their jobs to redundancy. Good job people! You managed to locate a reason for janitors to hate you for being fat. Congratulations, that leaves...native cannibals on the list of People Who Won't Judge You For How Much You Weigh. You probably wouldn't want to go after the cannibals though...I hear they don't make good BFFs...
It happens so fast (ze click), you have to wonder, "Where the hell have I been for the past *insert number of years* of my life?!" Oh yes, it's happened to me. I remember it quite vividly actually. It was a normal day like any other day. I woke up at 5:30 PM (I'm somewhat nocturnal), rolled out of bed, landed on the floor with a loud thud that probably killed the old man with a heart condition living downstairs, laughed at myself for a few idle minutes, then got up to survery the damage done to my already effed up visage. I took one look in the mirror, counted the number of chins a-a-a-and CLICK. The next thing I know, I'm having a nervous breakdown and a jar of peanut butter magically materializes into my palm. I can't even remember if I used a spoon...It's safe to say this emotional eating thing is a vicious cycle that bites you in the ass when you're not looking. And if you are looking, that just makes the guilt a whole lot more insufferable and you just end up eating more to make yourself feel better for eating more.
See? Vicious cycle.
So anywho, after summoning the jar of PB away, I grabbed the phone and called my mother, who was at work. I had the firm conviction that I had composed myself emotionally enough to talk to my mother in a mature manner to impress her and show off that I, too, can be an adult. When she picked up and said, "Hello?" I broke down sobbing. There's something about your mother's voice that just tugs on your heart strings like, say, caramel apple crumble on a warm summer day would.
Naturally, my speech was not coherent enough to be understood by any other Joe, but mothers have acute aural senses when it comes to their kids. She understood everything I was saying and told me to hang up. The minute I did, the sobbing stopped (I know, wtf, right?). She called again and told me that I had an appointment with a well-known surgeon to discuss the lap-band and, of course, I broke down crying once again. Once Niagara Falls passed, I sat down dreaming of the lap-band. 12 days later, they shoved one in me and sent me on my merry, hobbling way. 3 weeks later, still going strong like a rainbow in a gay parade minus the extra hobble. <3
Thank you once again for wasting about 3 minutes of your life to read about mine! For all those who suggested I write my own book (only one person did), I'm proud to say that I already am, lol. I'm not a published writer. Not yet, anyway.
Until next time! *Smoke and stealthy getaway*
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