Keep Fear Alive

"I've always been a fan of television's influence on American culture. It's hard to believe that, before there was t.v., sitting on a couch for hours on end seemed kind of sad."


~Stephen Colbert


Well! Looks like I will have lots to write about again.

Yaaaaaaay...

I got in. There will be no month on the waiting list for me. Kg starts the hop-sital Day Program on Monday.

Um. Um um um.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!

I'm scaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaared.

I don't want to learn to eat TWO FUCKING SLICES OF PIZZA! WHY IS THAT SO FUCKING DIFFICULT TO UNDERSTAND?!

Ahem! Excuse me. Sorry about that.

Methinks there may be some anxiety about the Day Program Pizza Night?

This weekend, having been Thanksgiving here in Canadia, I accepted and annihilated the challenge of eating Thanksgiving dinner with my family. Just the one time, when in reality, they actually had three Thanksgiving dinners over the long weekend, but whatever. I still did it, once. I ate exactly what they ate on Saturday night - turkey, stuffing, peas, carrots and potatoes, all cooked in butter; though I will admit that I copped out on the apple pie for dessert. There was no point in pretending I wouldn't throw that up.

The dinner itself was tough - I hate eating something I haven't prepared myself, for I have no idea what the fat/calorie content may be. But I did it anyway, and then I went to hop-sital to meet Day Program's boyfriend, who was in town for the holiday.

That was the only meal I ate over the weekend that I didn't prepare myself, and I went to the gym every day, though I decided that I really do hate fucking cardio, and I just can't be arsed to do it when I'm already walking the dogs 3-4 times a day. I'm just gonna do weights again, though right now I am so sore, I ain't doing shit.

The point of all this is that on Monday, I rolled out of bed, went for a pee, and looked myself over critically in the mirror. Hmmmm. I didn't look nearly as disgusting as I did a week ago, when I was first released from hop-sital. I was looking toned, my abs were starting to show again and you could see some definition in my arms and legs.

Oh fuck, I thought. Have I...have I lost weight?

A raging ambivalence started in my chest as I let the dogs outside so they could pee too, then slowly made my way upstairs, to check my weight on my parents' scale. Part of me was THRILLED - fucking right, I lost weight, thank GOD! But another part of me thought, Oh fuck, I'm gonna lose my spot in Day Program, that is not good. Fuck fuck fuck.

I walked into my parents' bedroom, chewing on my knuckles. What was I gonna do if I had lost weight? I didn't want to eat anymore, I didn't think it was humanly possible. But I also didn't want to stop eating only low fat, diet foods, because I was comfortable eating them and leaving them in my body. I didn't want to have to start eating full fat foods again.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck, I thought, and went to step on the scale.

It was gone.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I groaned, and spun on my heel to charge back down the stairs.

"Mum!" I yelled, as I burst into the kitchen. "Where's the bloody scale?"

Mum looked up from the sink and over at Dad, then nervously back to me. "Um..."

"I'm allowed to have it," I snapped impatiently.

"I thought you weren't," she said, and looked at Dad again.

"No, that was the other girls," I said, vibrating with impatience. I need to know my weight, NOW, I thought. Give me the fucking scale! "I was allowed to know my weight whenever I wanted, Mum. Now could you please go and get me the scale!"

"Alright," she said, wiping her hands on a towel, and brushing past me.

I made to follow her, but she turned around and stopped me. "No, you wait here," she said.

Omigod, I thought, and rolled my eyes. I'm eight years old again, and she's hiding my fucking Halloween candy.

Ha ha! She'd have to now, though, wouldn't she?

She brought the scale back downstairs, walked into the kitchen and handed it to me. Then she and my father stood side by side, staring at me expectantly.

"What?" I said, looking at them uncomfortably. "I'm not gonna do it here." I ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs, the scale bouncing awkwardly in my arms.

When I got into my parents' bedroom, I closed and locked the door behind me, and set the scale down on the floor. I stepped on it quickly and closed my eyes. Three seconds later, I opened them again.

Oh my God.

122 lbs.

I had GAINED THREE POUNDS.

I stepped back down, stunned.

But...but I look better...I thought. How could I have gained three pounds?

I left the scale on the floor and walked slowly back downstairs, stumbling into the kitchen, oblivious to my concerned parents, watching me intensely.

"Kagie? Are you okay?" Dad asked.

"Yeah," I said. I shook my head, and looked up at him. "Huh. Yeah, Dad, I'm okay. I've gained three pounds. But I'm okay."

And what's weird is that I kinda was okay. I really did feel better about the way I looked, since leaving hop-sital and becoming active again. The number on the scale didn't count this time, because I had decided before I stepped on that stupid smegging scale that I liked the way I looked. Not as much as I liked how I looked at 110 lbs, OBviously, but better than I looked a week and a half ago.

So. I had just decided that I was somewhat comfortable at 122 lbs, when I got the phone call to tell me that I was in for Day Program.

Huh.