Getting Real

I think that in order for a person to really change, they have to not like themselves the way they are.
I think I've reached that point.

Every time I get ready to head out to the store or some social gathering, I kick myself for looking so horrible in my too-tight clothing. I hate my hair- it always looks worse on a fat face. And although nobody wants to talk about it- I feel dirty. Like I stink. Like the fat is permeating it's own unique smell that grosses everyone out. People truly do look at you differently when you're overweight.

I have dreams of sliding- (not stuffing) myself into a favorite pair of faded jeans. Those comfy ones with holes and worn places. Except in my dream, there is a hint of suntanned skin beneath the distressed fabric- and not a huge dumpling of pimply flesh rolling out like a swollen ear lobe.
And in my dream I have on a soft cotton shirt. White, with a long tail and a few buttons open in front. My tan bare feet are perfectly manicured- the sweet pink polish emphasizing my tiny ankles. My cute shiny hair is up in a messy pony tail, but looks fantastic.

I curl up in a chair and read a book, my husband gazing over at me once in a while with sheer love and lust on his face.
And I smell really good.

Not like fish grease or bbq or sausages and cheese. I smell like wild flowers and fresh air and tantalizing musk.
And I can breathe.
I can do things no fat woman can do.
And I finally like myself again.

Dreams do come true.
The journey of 200 days starts January 5th.