Now here is a funny experience. I shall title it: “Thinking Thin at the Dentist’s Office.”
I have been great about working on my Daily Checklist lately. I attack it each morning with a passion. I have been consciously trying to take advantage of each minute of the day. Today, while sitting in the dentist’s chair (dreading the drill), I thought, “Hey! Why sit here and waste time? Surely there’s something I can do in my head.” And voilà I thought of “thinking thin.” My eyes were shut anyway, so I started concentrating on thinness.
I visualized it all: the happy, thin experiences of traveling, being Rose Festival princess, turning guys’ heads, swimming, dancing—it was wonderful. Then I thought, “Rosemary, you’ll probably be here for another hour. Why not go for broke?” So right there, in the dentist’s chair, I became 125 pounds, put on the daringest, skimpiest, most provocative little teddy you ever did see and proceeded to seduce my husband. At one point, I almost choked on my own laughter. Whatever would Dr. Cantwell think if he knew my thoughts at that moment? After fifteen years of fat, I must admit, it’s more than a little exciting to contemplate… dare I say it?… sex as a skinny me. An uninhibited me. I’m going to need a new closet built—for my sleepwear alone!
The crazy kicker here is this: I was so fat, I barely fit into the dentist’s chair. My hips were hanging over the armrests in a most disgusting way. I cringed when I sat down, and, like Silly Putty, had to kind of melt into that ridiculously small seat. I swear, the people who make those chairs must think that if you’re more than twenty pounds overweight, you’re immune to cavities!
What a miserable addiction food is. I’m sure there are times when alcoholics or drug addicts are so far into never-never land that they are unaware of their misery. They have to come down off their self-induced high before they realize how miserable they are. Eating chocolate does not wipe away my pain, it does not send me to never-never land. Of course, I have no desire to exchange addictions with a heroin user, but it would be nice if there were a harmless way to forget my fat and hide my degradation for a while—even if it were only from myself.
Thursday was awful. I need to write about it, so I will never forget. I’ve been in a deep state of depression; morbid obesity, a messy house, severe debt, and seven baby-sitting kids a day add up to severe depression every time. But, hey, I have the power to eliminate two of the four. My body is my own. (Though I’m not exactly thrilled to claim it at this particular time!) And it is physically possible to clean my house. In fact, if I would lose weight, it would be easier to clean the house, because I’d have more energy. And if I were skinny, I could become a famous movie star and make lots of money and… yes! All my problems would be solved. Okay, so the movie star idea is a little ludicrous (I’ll let that one go), but at least half my problems would be solved.
Being off my diet is hideous. Mentally and physically. I get sick to my stomach from eating pure garbage all day long, and I also feel sluggish and blah and exhausted. (Probably a result of the horrendous sugar overdose.) The physical reaction to terrible eating habits is extremely negative, but the mental and emotional consequences are even more devastating. My mind and soul seem to ingest the garbage, too. My sense of humor shrivels up and dies. Nothing is funny, cute, or clever. All hope vanishes. My love for family, for life itself, diminishes. My very soul, the essence of me, shrinks to a state of near nothingness. I experience an emptiness inside so acute that I feel like a mere shell—a big, fat, ugly, unloved, and unwanted shell.
Thursday, I felt a horrible weight on my chest, like a wave crashing over me. I kept finding myself gulping for air. I kept having to grab on to something, just to maintain balance.
Did you ever see that delightful Walt Disney movie Pollyannal In one scene, the preacher is perched behind the pulpit with an extremely stern look on his face. He almost scowls at the congregation and then suddenly blasts out at them in a growly voice: “Death comes unexpectedly!” His intensity nearly knocks you out of your chair! Well, that’s how my depression waves come—unexpectedly. As when I was happily doing my laundry, pleased to be on my last load, and whammo! Suddenly, I was submerged in despair. I could be doing anything; those waves came all day long.
However (and this is important), I was desperate for the depression to go away. I didn’t want to sink so far down that I would drown for who knows how many days. I wanted out and I fought back. After each horrid wave of despair, I would mentally cry out, “Oh, please, God, help it to go away. I want to feel happy. I want to accomplish something today. Only I can pull myself out of this, but you can give me extra strength. Please help me now!”
I survived Thursday. Thank goodness Allen took all the children to Matthew’s Cub Scout pack meeting that night. For one hour I had no one but me to take care of. It had been months since I’d had an entire hour to myself.