My ADD has had me asking the wrong questions all along, and this, I am convinced is why I am fat. Instead of asking questions like “what smells so good?”, “how many cookies can I eat without anyone looking?”, “is that a chocolate fountain?” or “why is she wearing those shoes with that dress”? (sorry, ADD moment), I should have been asking, what can I do still be able to love food, but in moderation so I’m not such a fat ass?
Maybe I should ask myself shallow, unimportant questions like:
What do I want?
Other than to be famous, rich and overall fabulous (check that off the list!), I want a great ass in a pair of size 8 jeans and a never drooping rack. I want to be the envy of at least one woman, and I want six pack abs that are used as the inspiration for infomercials.
How can I achieve that?
Gastric Bypass surgery (check), determination (check), plastic surgery, jeans that are a size 14 but have a tag that says they are size 8, a $38.00 wonderbra from Victoria’s Secret, one of those foam ab costumes people use when they want to portray a super hero at Halloween, OH! And a reality check!!
What can I do to maintain success after I have achieved that?
Never wake up apparently because these are things we can only dream of!
These thoughts and this silliness has been provoked by some ridiculous online, self help, get off your ass and do something, article I was reading that said you only have to ask the right questions in order to get the right answers that will lead to success. Well, la dee fucking da, why didn’t I think of this 15 years ago? It’s not like I never looked in a mirror and thought why am I fat? It’s not like I never realized the Cheetos, soda, chocolate and Dairy Queen Peanut Buster Parfaits were contributing to the ass dimples I was sporting under my Lane Bryant jeans. I wasn’t so blind to the fact that a couple kids, 10 years of depression, an overall state of laziness and idontgiveashit-edness and greasy pizza and wings a couple times a week spurred my never ending 15 year weight gain. It’s not that I didn’t KNOW, I just didn’t CARE. I never took the time to fix me, because let’s face it, sometimes it’s easier to stay broken and be able to whine about it. We all do it, I am just now brave enough to admit it. Had I whined less, ate better and got off my couch to exercise once in awhile I might not be staring down the barrel of a very fat gun, awaiting surgery in the hopes that this time, I WILL know better, and I WILL care enough to make different choices.
While I do realize we need to ask the questions before we can relinquish the answers necessary for success, I think it’s all in the timing and in our ability to see the reasonable results of the actions we take. I don’t expect to come out of this surgery with the body I had when I was 18 because I am pretty sure my 35 year old body ate that body quite some time ago. I realize I will never have flawless skin, free from “ass dimples” or stretch marks. I will never have flat abs or an ass that looks fantastic without the aid of the right jeans to give it a lift. It’s OK, really it is. I will be imperfectly perfect and happy to wear my loose skin on my thinner frame as a badge of honor. While I may be asking the questions a little late, and while I may have to pay a price for doing so, at least I am asking and answering and doing.
At this stage in my life, I will ask these questions again, and answer them with all honesty:
What do I want?
To live to see my children grow up. To decrease my chances of becoming another obese statistic. To lessen my chances of getting diabetes or dying young from a heart attack or stroke relative to my weight. To look in the mirror and be proud that I decided to finally do something for myself.
How can I achieve that?
By never forgetting the decisions I made that got me to this point. To live without regret and be happy with my end results.
What can I do to maintain success after I have achieved that?
Hold myself accountable to these words, these blogs, and these standards I have set for myself.
At the end of the day, it’s all about perspective.
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