that wasn't even the worst part. the worst part was that kevin thought these 31/30's to be uberchic and slipped them on like a glove. nothing like your husband modeling your fat clothes to boost your self esteem.
it's not even the number which has skyrocketed from my crackhead scrawn of 95 lbs. up to my last weigh in of 125 lbs. now, i must easily be pushing be 130 lbs, by the end of the day. the vast majority of gain is cyclosporine bloat, tight, constricted bulk; tissue swelling sponge like, then heavy ho it sinks, and i am super sized hen.
and i look ridiculous. in clown pants that fit nowhere proper, the choppy bob of regret and a face sprawled so wide, i've not a line in sight.
i am puffy, distended and miserable, and i've got a head full of wild, weedy thoughts that need tending.
["power through, until one year true...power through, we will reduce..."]
so i went to a meeting.
and i went to see my in-laws.
and now something else is swollen...
not my ego, no longer concerned with misguided attempts at identity...
not my brain, which is still flooded, but not swamped, with dangerous thoughts...
not my emotions, which although wildly rampant, have run their course for tonight...
...but, my heart....
a heart swollen with gratitude to those whose stories i listened to tonight...
and to those two who listened to mine...
[clown pants, be damned]
[i love you, c and l...]
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