Let's try this again

I'd received the call that was my chance to rewrite my personal history and reclaim some shred of dignity that was taken from me in my disatrous international television debut. I would return to Oprah triumphantly to declare that I was finally conquering my fat demons and becoming the thin person that I was always meant to be. I fantasized that the new subtitle under my name would read "thinks she'll never be fat again". The drill was pretty much the same only this time I knew to wear solid, dark colors to highlight my ever reducing body frame and try to avoid being filmed on my right side to highlight my much better profile on the left. The limo picked me up and I was practically giddy when I was ushered into the green room and taped up with microphones for my date with redemption. As before, everything went by faster than expected, even though this was not a live taped show. That was the season when the Oprah show decided to split each episode into two half-hour segments. The first half-hour featured helpful hints about watching your weight and eating well while entering the holiday season and the second half-hour was a live show by Micheal Bolton as he hocked his newest Christmas album. Wierd, I know, but I loved every single bizarre moment of it. I got what I came for...a hug and celebratory scream from Oprah, a before and after shot from my previous show to the current show, and plenty of high-fives and "you go girl's" from fellow former fatties on the show. Oprah even introduced me to Michael Bolton shortly after he warbled "Ave Maria" as I sat in the front row a few seats from the daytime talkshow queen. I even got an Oprah mug. Life, however strange, was good.

Except, it really wasn't at all. I was becoming depressed, even though I wouldn't have known to call it that at the time. Workouts became harder as my body began to ache from over-exercising and I was driven beyond reason to keep dropping pounds even though I began to binge on literally dozens of doughnuts and packs of cigarettes after my 4-hour workouts on the weekends. Suddenly I felt compelled to find my way to my thinnest self and felt ever so strongly that I was not going to be able to do it. It felt like life or death. Looking back, I could not see just how lonely and sad my life had become and how I was beginning to bargain with myself to make this unsustainable workout schedule and my desperate attempt to find self-love and approval by losing weight a success. I would spend my weekend nights alone with a bag of candy, a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of wine, and a blockbuster movie, hoping to numb myself to a growing ache in my heart and a knowingness in my mind that something was very, very wrong. As punishment for these binges, I would extend workouts to sometimes a full day and then reward myself with more candy, doughnuts, and overeating...you see the pattern. I was out of control and working overtime to avoid an increasing tide of bad feelings by either over-exercising or over-eating and doing the other to compensate for the other. I believe it is called a vicious cycle for a reason.