Skinny Doris was this mythical person in my mind.
Skinny Doris would achieve anything she put her mind to. She would land any job she wanted. She would capture the heart of any man she smiled at. She would have hordes of friends that adored her. Skinny Doris was going to be an unstoppable force.
Skinny Doris has never materialized. And I mourned her for a while. I lamented the fact that I could not will her into existence. For in my mind, I had failed. I failed at keeping off the weight I had lost. I failed at quenching my need to eat. I failed at life, because I could not make Skinny Doris my reality.
My grief over this mythical person dominated my life for so long. I believed that if I could just get skinny, my life would change for the better. I did not focus on what was good in my life or what was good about me, as I was convinced that I was worthless until I lost weight.
I thought that my heftiness was the reason my mother treated me the way she did. I thought my girth was the reason I lost the job of my dreams. I thought my bulk was what kept me from finding friends, finding a man, finding joy. I was so unhappy because I was so weighed down by shame. I was so boggled down by what I believed were missed possibilities and opportunities that it was hard to breathe at times.
This burden hung over me for most of my life. The idea that losing weight would solve everything was this imaginary carrot dangling before my eyes.
And I tried so hard. I tried so many times to unearth Skinny Doris from the folds of flesh that made up Fat Darcey. I became convinced that I would never be able to whittle off all that was weighing me down. I resigned myself to a lifetime of being Fat Darcey. And I punished myself for my inability to be nothing more than Fat Darcey.
Then little changes started happening. I got things that I thought were only meant for Skinny Doris, such as a new job that I desperately wanted. Good things were happening to me bit by bit.
However, I still wrapped myself up in shame, like it was a thick warm blanket and I could not get warm enough.
I blamed my size for almost everything. I played the victim. My weight was why things happened to me that should not happen to anyone. Instead of fighting back, I sat and applied ice cream to my wounds. I soothed myself with pasta and cheese. I celebrated not having a nervous breakdown with cake. Food was the only comfort I had that never failed me.
That was my life.
Instead of admitting that I needed help, instead of reaching out to people, instead of getting down on my knees and praying, I numbed myself. I created a solitary life. I closed the windows and locked them, intending to never let anyone in.
One could say that Fat Darcey was a caterpillar, oozing around aimlessly.
I was determined to prove the statement "that no man is an island" wrong, as I was tired of life not going the way I felt I deserved it to be. And I blamed it all on my excess weight.
My a-ha moment came after I spent my two hour commute sobbing uncontrollably once more. A dear friend told me it was time to find a therapist.
I initially grew angry. I intended to cut said friend off, as I felt betrayed.
And I felt so incredibly lost and alone. I had hit my rock bottom.
So, I found a therapist. Divine intervention led me to one that was perfect for me. Without her, I would not be the woman I am today. She deserves the shrine I have built for her in my home.
She helped me see that it was okay to never be Skinny Doris. She helped me see that I was worthy the way I was.
My journey has not been easy. Nor has it been one straightforward path. Some days, it is so easy for me to want to revert to old habits.
For instance, today, I was told by someone I had once considered a friend that I used to be so fat that I looked like a frog person. When I looked at him in confusion, he told me I had been so huge that I looked as thought I would explode. As those two gems weren't enough, he continued. He thought I was on the verge of dying because of how unhealthy I used to look. That he didn't believe I never reached 300 pounds.
The tears welled up in my eyes and I started looking at old photos of myself, trying to see what he said he saw. I looked at those pictures, the few that I have, and saw them through his eyes. I saw a hideous beast. I saw someone who was unworthy of any affection or kindness. The person in those photographs was a blob of a human.
All I wanted was to eat. All I could think was that if I had some sour cream and cheddar potato chips, I would be okay.
Instead of succumbing to my old balm, I reached out to friends. My wounds are still stinging. There are still tears in my eyes. I hurt. No potato chip will make me feel better. This is part of the journey, feeling the pain. Working through it instead of numbing it.
It's at times like this I wonder what Skinny Doris would do.
As part of this pain is that when I see photos of myself, no matter when they were taken, I see a hideous creature. Part of my journey has been me overcoming my hatred of myself, especially in photographs.
Yesterday, March 2nd, was my one year anniversary with Roosevelt. It's been a bittersweet five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes.
As I've said before, I've gained so much over the past year, although I am a shadow of who I used to be physically.
Some days, I mourn Fat Darcey. And I wish I had been kinder to her.
Some days, I feel as though Skinny Doris has finally emerged from her cocoon, especially when I dress myself in the clothes I had wanted to wear for so long.
Little side story here: when Fat Darcey was in the 3rd grade, she loved wearing colors. One day, she proudly pulled together a stylish (for an eight year old) ensemble of turquoise stirrup pants, a golden yellow blouse and a purple v-neck sweater. She rocked that look to school that day, feeling quite proud of herself, until she walked down the hallway and passed her older sister's 4th grade classroom. One of her sister's friends was standing in the doorway and called out to Fat Darcey's sister, telling her she had to come see this fat girl who was wearing all these ugly colors together. The friend was unaware that they were sisters. Fat Darcey's sister came and laughed at her. Fat Darcey never made the mistake of wearing any outfit that would make her stand out from a crowd again for many years.
Now, I am collecting an array of brightly colored tights, funky patterned tops and dresses, as well as some bright pants.
I feel like a butterfly, fluttering around in the sunlight.
I'm working on my fear of photos. I made two photo collages yesterday, one of all the progress shots I have taken over the last year, and one side by side shot, one of Fat Darcey, the morning of surgery and the other of not so fat Darcey.
After much internal debate, I posted them on Facebook. As I was dreading comments.
I deleted the ones that irked me the most.
I am not comfortable with people telling me I'm beautiful or that I look good. I don't know if I'll ever be comfortable with it.
I also am uncomfortable with people telling me how brave I am to be so open with my story. I don't see it as bravery. I just see it as the right thing to do.
I had trouble sleeping at night when I was keeping my surgery so secretive. I felt as though I was holding myself back from a full recovery from my addiction by continuing to keep secrets.
So, I started to be open about the weight loss surgery. I was able to sleep better.
It's not always comfortable being so open about having gotten Roosevelt. There is so much judgment. I try to tune it out, but it's hard some days.
I have met people who understand how much work it is. It's been no magic pill.
It has been worth it. The hard work, the journey, the shedding of the cocoon, I would do it all over again.
And as I continue my journey, as I'm not done yet. There's more work to be done. On my weight. On my head. On my heart. On my soul.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who kind of looks like me, but not really.
I look in the mirror and I still see Fat Darcey some days.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who has a purpose.
I look in the mirror and I see what God has created.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who has let down the walls she clung to for so long in order to not let herself get hurt.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who is loved, by friends and family.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who has come so far.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who still has many miles to travel on this journey.
I look in the mirror and I see someone whose smile radiates the inner peace that she has found and is continuing to cultivate.
I look in the mirror and I see someone whose pain radiates on her dark days.
I look in the mirror and I see someone with visible reminders of the journey, from surgery scars to silvery stretch marks to saggy skin.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who has a beautiful soul.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who is no longer afraid to fight.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who is stronger.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who prays for herself "And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God." (Ephesians 3:17-19), someone who has been saved, although she did not feel worthy of His love.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who knows her feelings on her weight/appearance is the thorn in her side.
I look in the mirror and I see a butterfly, who has gone through a tremendous transformation to emerge from her cocoon.
I look in the mirror and I see a butterfly who is all the more special because of the work she has gone through to be created.
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