Be Kind to your fellow Chubbies

Today I came across a blog of an old "friend" who I had parted ways with some time ago, and not in a very friendly manner.
(big surprise, I know ::vbeg::)
Anyway, if I am being honest in the telling of this story I have to say two things #1 she was kicking my ass in the weight loss department and #2 she knew it, and liked to get on her high horse from time to time ... as most of us do when we are in the groove and looking fabulous. In reading her blog today I come to find out that she is not doing so well in the battle ... and if you read between the lines I am thinking she has put most, if not all of her weight back on.

Now let's all be real, back in the day this may have tickled me pink and induced an evil cackle and finger pointing to the not always kind "those we do not speak of". But in the past few weeks since I have revisted my life long struggle to beat this demon yet again, I have met up with 8 once dear friends, who find themselves in exactly the same situation. Some live in shame and have only admitted their situation to very few. Some have secretly had surgery. Some cry every day. The bottom line is, people who I have cared about in my life, past or present, are suffering. And they think they are alone or need to be embarrassed for doing the very same thing that (maybe you and) I have done. And that doesn't make me want to laugh or gossip, it makes me really sad.

Why is it that sometimes those that give us big girls the hardest time, is other big girls? Remember me staring at that poor mayo face lady in the Subway sandwich shop, feeling superior because I had dropped a few pounds?
::still hanging head in shame::
Why is it that fat people are usually the only ones that say all snarky like that Gastric Bypass or Lapband Surgery is the "easy way out"? You bitches know if it was easy you would have done been had it already! ::vbeg:: Yes, unlike those of you who have to rely strongly on your willpower, my choices will be limited for me once I have my stomach made into an ounce pouch. One choice, eat an ounce of food. Second choice, eat 2 ounces of food and double over in pain for 5 hours, shit my pants, break out in a cold sweat, and possibly split my stomach open. Monty I'll take door number one! But this is for the rest of my life. Let me say that again. The rest of my life. Forever. No more things that I love and that make me happy. At least not the way I have come to know them. No more Thanksgiving dinner, bucket of popcorn and a soda at a movie, birthday dinner with birthday cake, all you can eat buffet. No more going on vacation and cheating for a few days. Enjoying a gourmet meal at a wedding. Granted the amount of fish, tofu, soy and chicken (aka to some as food) does slowly increase. And yes if I loose my ever love'n mind I can eat more everyday until I slowly stretch the pouch until I can eat a milkshake, fries, a burger and double blondie ... but if I do, I personally give you all permission to shoot me in the F'n head! This is far from the easy way out. This is trading my short fat life for a longer life that is completely foreign to me and where I have no idea where or how to find happiness. I'm excited, but also scared to death.


Now onto American Idol ... Lil you were the Steve Wozniack of AI, it was time. Anoop, I liked you but there was no one else that could go home this week ... Chris amazed us for the very first time and couldn't be sacraficed.

Tomorrow night is date night. A marathon of "28 Days" and "28 weeks later". I can't wait.

It is supposed to be in the high 80's all weekend and we have yard work planned, so if I go MIA it's most likely because I have fainted from over supervising and am being fanned in the shade with a nice iced Long Island Ice Tea. ::G:: Have a great weekend ladies!