I'm three days post op. The high has worn off. Kind of like what happens to meth addicts after their lab blows up and they figure out something went horribly wrong.
Now I'm just kind of here...wondering what I did. It's almost even kind of hard for me to write what I'm feeling. It's that strange. I'm down 5 lbs since Thursday. Which, don't get me wrong, is totally awesome. It took me like a month to lose 5 lbs before.
Wouldn't it be nice if you could see immediate results? You know, like in I Dream of Jeanie. I mean 5 lbs is great and all, but laying in bed watching TV I saw my flabby arms again. And I wondered if they would ever go away. Also in that point and time I realized I could really go for some pizza. Like, not just some pizza, but alot of pizza. Followed by a juicy bacon cheeseburger. Granted, it has nothing to do with hunger, it's all in my head, but I still want it.
Yes, I get that that's how I got this way....food makes me feel better. I don't know why, it just does. It's comforted me for 30 years. I would take a look at some flabby part of myself and go "What's the difference? I'm chubby already, I might as well add to it." It's confusing why something like that, which is clearly, detrimental, makes you feel better.
It's good that I'm starting to correlate the two feelings...but it also makes me wonder how I will ever overcome it. Will there ever be a day when I look in the mirror and am happy with what I see? Will there ever be a day that I don't just want a big juicy cheeseburger at my disposal?
I guess I'll go make my tomato soup and pretend I'm eating something delicious and juicy.