2 1/2 Weeks.

I am 19 days out from surgery.

I am down 20 lbs.

At least, I was this morning.

That's the same 20 lbs I was down a week ago.

Over the last week, it's been up 5, down, up, down, up.

They say don't get on a scale more than once a week.

I can understand why.

It is CRAZY-making.  Seriously.

How can I eat 500 calories a day and GAIN?

The answer can only be water weight, but...still.  It makes me insane.

I feel like I did this so that I could free myself from the stupid scale.  Or from tight clothes.  Or from aching joints.  Or from feeling...bleh.

Now I obsess more than every about what the scale says.  I worry about EVERY SINGLE BITE  I put in my mouth.  I think about food more than ever.

There are moments where it all seems surreal.  Like...I couldn't have just carved up my body in the name of 'thin'.  And in reality - I didn't.  I had the surgery so that I, and hopefully my family, will become healthier.

But it feels like I did it for superficial reasons.  It feels like I did it because I was pressured.  It feels like...I shouldn't have done it, because it cannot be un-done.

In moments where I wish I could share a dessert with my husband...in moments where I want just one french fry (yeah right, just 1?!?!), in moments where I just wish I could chug a bottle of water because I am SO VERY THIRSTY....it feels like it was wrong.

I am embarrassed to talk to anyone about the surgery.  One of the pastors from church called to ask about it...and I avoided the call.

It feels like admitting failure.  Like - I couldn't control what I put in my mouth, so I had to surgically control it.

(And boy, do I ever have to control it now.)

It feels like...why should anyone have sympathy for me in recovery for this - something I did to myself.

So...everybody keeps looking at me weird and asking if I am ok, and I think that's PROBABLY an indication that they think I am depressed.

And...I am...because I can't chug water.  (How stupid is that?) And because I can't even have a flipping drink while I'm eating (ever again).

I am honestly considering therapy.  But I get hung up on whether to go with the therapist we've seen on and off for the last 10 years (because, I don't have to start my story all over.  He knows us.  He knows where we've been.  He knows what I face in day-to-day.  He knows my husband, my kids...me.)  He's a Christian, but his counseling is not faith-based...and I don't think he was really THAT effective.  He helped with some things, but really, my main reason for thinking he's the one I should go to is...I don't have to share my whole long, drawn-out story again.

I have the name of another counselor.  She's related to some of our good friends from church, and she IS a Christian...and she counsels from that perspective.  But I would have to go into everything all over again, which sitting here right now feels completely exhausting.

But I think it must be done.  I need an external view of where things stand.  I love my husband and my mom, but they both have their own particular spin on things that leaves me feeling I can't entirely trust their assessment of me.

And so there it is.  But for some reason, making the call is just...hard.

I wish that I had the courage to just throw the stupid scale out.  After all of this...does it matter what it says?  I can't do one further thing (well, aside from exercising my (literal) butt off?).  I don't think there is any way I could survive on fewer calories.  And the scale belies that old belief that if you eat less and move more, you'll lose weight.  Because again - the 500 calories a day I'm averaging right now...I may not be running a marathon, but I'm moving more than that.

And now...I'm going to go take some cold medicine and banish the menfolk from my room.  (That sounded funny, didn't it.  The xbox is in there, and the hubby and sons have taken up residence there.  Which sucks, because the boys sit on my side of the bed, and...well...males think farts are funny, yo.  NOT ON MY BED, I SAY.)

I know I need to cut myself some slack.  I am a work in progress - in every way.  It's been 2 1/2 weeks.  It's not like this was a silver bullet.  But...it just isn't the victory one would like to have.

Now I need to go look at videos of puppies or something.  Bleh.