Six months ago I decided that October 8 needed to still be significant in order to help with my healing process. Encouraged by the love and support of my family and friends, I decided to make the day a positive instead of a negative and to change my life to reflect the new direction my life path was leading me. I pledged to be accountable and to become healthy, hopefully exchanging the premise of having "more of me to love" to having longer to love less of me. In honor of my 30th year on this planet, I decided 30 lbs was a fitting change over a six month period. I hit the road running, and I stayed loyal and true to my goal...for about two months. I dropped 15 lbs, but the physical losses stopped as my emotional and social experiences gained. Still, October 8 was still circled on the calendar. The anticipation was still there to spend a day celebrating life with my friends and family, and the new addition of Molly to the mix added another level of excitement. During this time, October 8 really did lose all attachment to the past and had become a completely new monster.
Now that it is October 7, I don't really know how to explain my feelings towards October 8 other than to say that I'm officially more excited for October 9 than anything else. In the past three weeks, the negative and the positive have started to mix in a way that has left me comfortably numb. As much as I've put the original meaning of the day out of my mind, it still creeps up every time I have to explain to someone what this party is for. I've kept a great sense of humor about it, but the scar has started itching a little bit this week. Trust me, I couldn't be happier with the way my life has turned out since President's Day. I've made new friends, met someone who is as interested in me as I am in her, and I feel more committed to my life up here than ever before. Still, I can't shake the thought that dancing with my mother tomorrow night was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of my life as opposed to being another drunken good time. Also, the shame from not hitting my originally pledged 30 lb loss has started to make this day a bit more dreadful than it should be. Three weeks ago I decided that I needed to kick it in the ass and move the scale forward, and the extra added effort has been pretty draining physically on top of the mental stuff going on.
I don't mean to sound bitchy and whiny, although I realize this is shaping up as quite the little pity party post. If my life were a baseball game, my batting average this season would be higher than Morneau, Mauer, and Cuddyer combined. I'm blessed to have parents that financially supported my crazy notion that having this party was a great idea, family and friends that are going to drive hours to basically celebrate what, at its core, has become a chance to drink a beer with me, and a girlfriend who doesn't hold the past against me and is using tomorrow as a jumping off point to meet the most important people in my life, regardless of the undertones of the party. Fate is throwing me a huge high five, and I refuse to leave it hanging. I'm going to have the time of my life tomorrow night and sincerely hope that everyone else there does, too. We'll cash in whatever weight loss I might have and maybe generate a couple extra bucks for the American Heart Association. We'll drink, laugh, dance, sing and celebrate the fact that we can still do all of those things. But the biggest celebration will come at the stroke of midnight when this insane chariot ride I've been on for the past eight months finally turns back to a normal, stable pumpkin, and October 8 goes back to being just another day.
Thank you all for all of your love and support through all of this. I'll update everyone on the final weigh-in on Monday.
Jeff
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