Forbidden Dreams

Scott said the most amazing thing to me yesterday. We were watching TV and a Mutual of Omaha ad came on while I was out of the room. He took the time to call me back into the room, rewind the commercial and have me watch it. It was a woman, who once weighed 400lbs, describing how it felt to cross the finish line of a 600 mile race she had dreamed about completing. Her friend who did the race with her started weeping at the finish line, and she asked her why. The woman replied, "You did it. You fulfilled your dream!"

Scott paused the TV, turned to

me and said, "That's you, baby. You're going to finish American Ninja Warrior. You have done every single thing you say you are going to do, no matter how out there. You are going to press that red button. I hope you take a moment when you do to realize how far you've come, and who you really are."

Pic one: Summer 2006 Me one week after surgery. 360lbs

What can I say? I started crying. I was still in my workout clothes from badassery earlier. My vegetarian lasagna was in the oven, and I was sipping a $2 tempranillo. (Hell yeah, I drink after workout. Lemme tell you something about Gen X'rs that people seem to have forgotten. Yeah, yeah, grunge was hot, but skate punk ska ruled the city streets when I was a young delinquent, and my inner punk has given up a lot to grow up and stay out of prison. She is not going straight-edge for anybody!)

Pic two: Amsterdam Fall 2007 one year after surgery 230lbs

Anyway, I'm sniffling and blushing. And he gave me something that I didn't know how much I needed it until he said it. He told me I had broken my cycle of obesity. I needed someone else to see it because I couldn't. He should know. We have been together since 2001. He has seen me lose and gain 80lbs + within a year. He knows how hard I am on myself, and how bad it is when I break and slide back into food addiction and cyclic sugar crashes. The depression, the anxiety, and sheer hormonal hell beast I can become.

Those of you who only know sweet Eda can probably hardly imagine the absolute harridan I become when I lose control of my anger. Imagine a personality is a pendulum. For as cozy and all loving as I can be to the world that pendulum can swing into crazy town, and thank the gods that I don't have X-Men powers cause I could burn the whole motherfucker down--go full Kali, and dance down the streets with a necklace of severed heads, and a belt of ripped off arms. Yep, total strait-jacket. I usually catch myself and amp down quickly. But even I'm scared of the though

t of the day I don't manage it, come out of a fugue, and realize I've bitten off someone's ear.

Anyway, Scott has seen me countless times with my ass hanging out. He's been present when I was on a binge. It's all addictions. Fuck comfort, we're all just looking to pass out whether it's turkey or Wild Turkey. He knows where I've been, even metaphorically. So, I trust his judgment. He told me last night that I would never go back to being 300 lbs. That I had made the change in lifestyle that was permanent. I'm amazed how much hearing that has healed a bleeding wound in my soul.

I dread losing control and becoming who I was in my 20s. I was so lost for

so long. My attitude was shit, my house was filthy, cockroaches reigned in my kitchen, and I had 3 piles a laundry, dirty, clean, and 'meh'. I had quit college; delivered pizza; was stoned and full of donuts, turkey jerky, and Dr. Pepper 24/7. I dressed like a goth lumber lesbian, had indiscriminate sex with jerks (Why are ASSHOLES so attractive? I guess self-loathing gets lonely, and a girl has to look for a misogynistic douche to up the ante). I HATED my life. My friends were cool, but we were all misfit fuck-ups. It was the unmedicated leading the medicated. At the corner of No Hope Blvd. & Lithium Lane. Ack! So, so glad that isn't me anymore.

But it was me at one time and it is a neon beacon in my head at all times. One slip then another, then I'm sliding on my ass back down the mountain, while years of pain, addiction, and countless lost pounds come walloping up my ass and thighs until once again I am only a study of anger and addiction--a butterball of emotional passive aggressive neediness.

Pic three: Christmas 2009 200lbs

Hmmmm...I think I'd rather die than go back.

And with that thought I can sleep at night, because I know that I won't let myself go back. I love me way to much for that and I don't care what I have to give up or what I have to do, but I will not be trapped by my own flesh again. I will gnaw my godsdamn paw off first.