The usual family drama

My parents were here Friday through this morning and they'll be returning Wednesday evening after a lovely stay in glacier national park in Montana. Things have actually been great. My parents have been accommodating and I have managed not to get upset over knives being left on the counter or similar minor things that usually make me grimace. I do however remember some grimaces over my mother setting a limit of "a couple of outfits" for when she took me clothes shopping (to help defray some of the insane cost of replacing clothing when losing weight). I also remember a couple of tearful visits to fashion bug and the ice cream shop respectively that ended in me blubbering "I want to be fat again." I really do try not to create drama with my parents and I try not to create drama in general, but let's face it, I'm dramatic. That's just it. I am not inentionally overdramatic, but I have dramatic emotions and therefore I act like a drama queen. I try really hard to tone this down, but at this point I either accept that this is the way I am, or I go find a sympathetic nurse who's familiar with potassium chloride injections (talk about being dramatic...).

Anyways, I think the issue that led to "I want to be fat again" bears addressing again. Weight loss is hard fucking work and for me it's been rewarded with lots of compliments from other people, a body I don't like, giving up every cool item of clothing I own and not being able to find replacements, and watching everyone else eat ice cream sundaes (or pie or doughnuts) while I sit at the table with nothing because I have to save points for the calorie laden dinner we are planning to have (or just had). Sometimes (especially to someone as dramatic as me) it seems like it would be easier and more fun to just gain back to 195 pounds (20 pounds lower than I started) and stay there forever. Of course, my orange flowered dress wouldn't fit, and everyone else would secretly think I looked horrible, and I really would look horrible because I wouldn't gain the weight back in the same places. I stick with it because I know that in the end I will be glad I did it and that I will look in the mirror and not see a gangly fucking monkey who moves like a series of broken twigs held together with bubble gum. For now, I just kind of have to suck it up and hang in there, which is no easy task for us drama queens since we always need results yesterday to keep us from slitting our wrists.