Confessions of a Weight-aholic

So the two, possibly three of you that actually read my blogisms may be sick of me bitching about weightloss and the trials and turmoils it brings me, but it's my blog and I'll wine if I want to.

Actually, I had an appiffany this morning. In the shower, where I do my best thinking, it came to me: It's unsatisfying to feel like you bust your ass all week, and then have nothing to show for it. I want that damn number on the scale to be lower to prove to myself that my efforts aren't wasted. It's hard work trying to make your life do a 180 towards health, and it would be nice to have something to show for it. Something that says "Good job, you have a result."

Is it wrong to ask for that kind of validation? I've asked myself several times why it's about the number and not about how I feel, and I can't answer myself honestly. I really don't know what it is about the number that makes me feel more confident. It's not like it looms over my head in flashing neon light for the world to see.

But I feel like people can read it on my face. They can look at me and see the screams behind my eyes yelling that I just want to be a few pounds lighter, a few inches smaller, a few muscles tighter. Because honestly, I think I have a great personality, and I'm satisfied with many aspects of my life, that I feel the only thing standing between me and true happiness is that number that pops up on the scale. That God damn glowing red number that I feel branded on my forehead as I try to live my life. And I feel this healthy leaf I'm turning is the best defense against this enemy.

No one can see that number but me. But I want the validation for my hard work. I want to have something that measures my progress. It may be the local clinical scientist in me, it may be something much darker and scary, but whatever it is, it's saying that that number is the manifestation of my hard work paying off.

I can only hope that as my lifestyle change becomes more natural, the meaning of the number will deminish.