Stupid Logic

When I weighed in excess of three hundred pounds my main coping mechanism was humor. I used them all:

I’m not fat; I’m short for my weight.

I’m not out of shape; round is a shape.

I’d go to the beach, but Green Peace keeps trying to roll me back into the water.

The list goes on, but it doesn't get any better. Ironically, the pain is the same whether dishing or receiving. When dishing there’s a modicum of control over the situation, but it’s a false sense at best. The truth is; the joke’s not funny.

That was my modus operandi: mask the pain. Mask the pain with a joke. Mask the pain with a meal. Mask the pain with isolation. My life was marked by a series of hiding and avoidance; when backed into a corner or social situation, I was quick with a joke. I’m not going to let you hurt me; only I get to hurt me. What stupid logic.

With every pound lost I am experiencing a sense of de-masking, un-hiding and freedom.

And the jokes are even less funny now.