At first, I was irritated because I was only finding counselors who identified as ‘Christian counselors.’ I find this offensive mostly because I don’t give a crap what religious beliefs my counselor ascribes to. Michael pointed out that in middle-American English, Christian roughly translates to “good person with similar values.”  And I figured  my refusal to see someone based on that identification was as goofy as the people who would only see someone with that identification. I was wrong, at least, in this case.

I tried to stay positive. The building the office was in was really neat… built in the 60′s and labyrinthine. Hallways that dead-end and stuff. Great place to shoot a horror movie. So I was excited about the building. The waiting room was pretty spare. I filled out my paperwork, noting with a chuckle that the counselor in question treats for sex/pornography addiction (which, I don’t believe exists). And so, after maybe ten minutes, my appointment began.

The room was not disturbing, at first. It looked out onto a pretty lake, and the sun was out. There were pretty normal books laying around (The Feel Good Handbook, kids books about divorce, that sort of junk). So I talked for 20 minutes and then she said the magic, horrifying words, “I have a treatment I’d like to try with you.” And my bullshit flag activated.

So she gave me a lecture about EMDR. For twenty minutes. She uses bilateral sound and bilateral sensation. And she put the headphones on my ear and I was like, this reminds me of binaural tones. Which Michael used to make me to listen to so I could sleep at night.

Then she said, I’d make you go more in depth about the traumas you’ve undergone. And I looked her in the eye, and said, “Honestly, I was a child for most of this stuff and couldn’t give you any more details than I have.”

As I wrote her a check (since she couldn’t give me a receipt for cash… seriously?) , I noticed she had *three* separate certificates for hypnotism. As in, regressive hypnotism. As in, hypnotize trauma patients and implant shit in their heads.

These things mostly amused me. But the most disturbing thing to me is this: I cried, and she sat and watched me. Didn’t hand me a tissue, didn’t reach out at all. This woman, this cold and awkward woman, is making people relive traumas. You can’t break people down emotionally and not be there to hold them. Hell, Donnie Darko’s counselor held him. I have never known a counselor who didn’t at least move closer when you cry. My last counselor actually would hug people – in sessions, leaving sessions. She told me once it was her job to make sure everyone left feeling loved and accepted. I miss that woman.

There’s a lot more ridiculous counselors than I thought. For my part, I’ve mostly soured on finding someone locally whose not crazy. Guess I’ll just take my ass down to Mel Bond, our local faith healer. For my part — a hypnotist counselor and a faith healer are both ripping off the poor, desperate and stupid. In much the same way.

But, the appointment cost me $12, I got a laugh. And, it reminded me I could be worse off. I’m not perfect, but I’m not a crazy counselor and I’m not her patient. Winning.

 I always assumed vegetarians got their protein at the same store where they got their self-congratulatory, moralistic, righteousness.

I love you assholes. But you’re still just making emotional appeals for a lifestyle that has never actually happened naturally at any point in human history.

• The number which represents the dollar amount we spend monthly on food for me (Medifast – 5 meals a day, 30 days a month, $2.36 average cost per meal = $354 a month, plus shipping and dinners – probably $800 a month, all told)
• The number which represents Medifasts’ published expected weekly weight-loss (2-5 pounds)
• My total weight loss after four months – 16 weeks, exactly (~30 pounds, average of 1.875/ week)
• My average calorie intake daily (1000 kcal)

At the beginning of this month – we decided to play by the Medifast book. I got half an hour of exercise most days (yoga, walking, house cleaning) and oftentimes (2-3 times a week) got significantly more exercise than that. I not only watched my caloric intake – I watched fat, carbs, sodium. I stopped my daily glass of wine. I started drinking 2-3 cups of unsweetened green tea a day and mostly cut out diet soda. I maintained a regular sleep schedule (7-8 hours a night).

And this month, I’ve lost… 6.4 pounds.

So in four weeks, I’ve lost an average of 1.6 pounds a week. Well below the minimum weight loss promised by Medifast.

My promise to Michael, if that was the ending result, was to look at ways to wean myself slowly off Medifast and onto a low-calorie, no-added-sugar, low-carb diet. If I suddenly gain a metric boat load of weight – I can cease the process and evaluate what’s going wrong.

Medifast isn’t a miracle cure, and I didn’t expect it to be. But by that same token – I don’t believe I’m seeing the results I should be seeing. I didn’t expect to hit five pounds a week because of my thyroid. But I’m not even losing two pounds a week.

I look and feel better. I haven’t really hit a plateau yet. Don’t doubt that Medifast works – it does. What I doubt is that it works better than any other diet and exercise program, for me. Especially considering the cost.

Medifast has been valuable to me in that it’s retrained the way I look at and prepare food. I’m more aware of what being hungry feels like. And I’m also more aware when I’m reaching fullness. I have not, since I started Medifast, had more than a  day or two where I ate until I felt over-full. I’ve realized that cravings are not orders from my body to indulge or over-indulge. And I’ve been able to say no and also to take tiny pieces of food to taste. I’ve been satisfied with that.

I’ve lost enough weight on Medifast that I can walk and do yoga without killing my joints. And the more I move, the more I start to really love my body. Every morning I get up and do some yoga or some stretches from when I was dancing. I’m still fat, but I’m strong and flexible. That feels good.

And maybe most importantly for me – Medifast took away a lot of the romance of food. Michael and I have talked about how we always looked at food as a way to achieve an awesome experience. I love food, and I always will. I take great joy in fresh fruit and veg; in fatty, cured meats; in creamy cheeses; in a rich, dark chocolate or cup of espresso. But most days, food isn’t romantic. Most days it’s just good. I cook chicken or fish and put a veg on the side and it’s tasty and cooked perfectly but it’s a standard meal. I relish it because it recharges my batteries and usually tastes pretty darn good. But I’ve stopped seeking orgasmic delight in food, 99% of the time.

I’ve not stopped seeking warmth or comfort in food – I’ve just changed the food I do that with. I cut myself half an ounce of cheese and gnaw on it like a mouse. I drink a cup of tea. Maybe I grab a handful of pistachios or walnuts or almonds.

Mostly, Medifast is a plan. You don’t pay for the meals so much as for the convenience of not having to think everyday - what am I going to eat? How is it going to make me feel? Will it give me enough energy to get through until lunch/dinner/snack?

Right now, I’m trying to consider how I would change that plan to take me off of it without derailing my progress. Michael asked me to think about what breakfast I would eat to take the place of my first medifast meal every morning.

I’m sort of at a loss. I’d like to avoid bread products and added sugar (so no oatmeal). I’d like to be able to parcel it out and grab it in the morning to eat at work. I do yoga each morning, so something heavier on protein is probably wise.   So I’m researching.

Anyway – so there’s a diet update. I’ve lost a total of 35 pounds so far. I don’t want to feel rushed about losing this weight – I mean, I want to keep it off for good. But I don’t feel good spending so much money on a plan that I don’t think is helping me lose weight any faster than I could, on my own.

This diet, to me, is about reclaiming that attitude. It’s about identifying what I want for myself and for my life and mapping it out.

I have wanted to lose weight since… probably junior high. I remember the first time I got stretch marks, I thought they were a horrible rash. I remember being in high school, kneeling in the shower and pounding my thighs with my fists and bawling for someone else to step in and do what I couldn’t. I begged for some sort of physical illness that would require me to change my diet or risk serious damage. I knew I was out of control, but I didn’t know how to stop. And all the people who say, “Just stop. It’s not that hard,” are assholes. It is hard. Food is undying love, comfort and peace. It’s always available. It never resists or changes.

I’ve been prescribed vicodin for a health problem recently. And to me, the closest I’ve ever come to that sort-of-muted, calm, happy feeling that opiates provide,  is food. It’s sitting in someone’s kitchen while they feed you dinner and pie. Food was my opiate. But cheaper and more ubiquitous.

So the diet is going well. It’s been 82 days, I’m down 23 pounds. I haven’t cheated… although I have expanded the parameters of what’s acceptable. I’ll drink a glass of wine if I want. I’ll eat a handful of berries. I’ll put a few chopped walnuts on my diet brownie. I’ll add sugar-free syrup and a shot of espresso to my diet hot cocoa. For example, here’s my breakfast this morning:

One Medifast chocolate-chip pancake (I made one big pancake), a few fresh strawberries and some sugar-free syrup. It’s not really suitable for cats, despite Inari’s interest, but it’s pretty tasty. Having those strawberries just makes it feel less like… deprivation.

On one hand, the diet is going great. I’m really pleased with how much I’m losing and even more pleased with being able to tell someone – this is how I eat, I walk at least half an hour daily, and this is how much weight I’ve lost. I’m the kind of person who likes rituals and habits and schedules and to be able to be that consistent is pleasing to me.

On the other hand, fuck, it’s hard to diet. The eating isn’t hard, that’s the most simple part. I have very few choices to make in that regard, for now. But the emotional parts of food. I had some health problems lately. I was driving home from the doctor, terrifically frightened. And I thought, I want my mother’s chocolate chip cookies. Or maybe just the cookie dough. One of those, or maybe both. And I had to process that urge – what did I really want? I wanted my mother’s comfort and affection. So I made some diet chocolate chip pancakes and then called her up. And she did calm me down and reassure me and listen to me. I felt a million times better after that phone call.

It’s just tremendously difficult because for me, whenever I felt bad, I stuffed that feeling with… cake. So now, not only do I have to figure out a solution that isn’t cake, but that also requires me to confront and figure out the emotions and possible solutions. It’s time-consuming, and I haven’t had a lot of practice with this process, so it’s challenging. A lot more challenging than buying or making a cake.

So, I’m approaching my fourth month on Medifast. I’m feeling like I’m in it for the long haul. I mean, I felt that way when I started. But it’s nice to wake up every morning and know that you’re determined to do something better for yourself. My next goal is seven pounds away. It’s the weight Homer Simpson happily announces before Mister Burns tells him he’s the fattest man he’s ever seen and Homer runs into the kitchen and tries to gorge on whipped cream in Brush with Greatness. It’s a stupid goal-weight, but it’s personal. I want to be thinner than fat people were in 1991, when that episode came out.

Of the three times I have watched this occur, only men have said this to only women. It has only been moderately heavy-set women (no one dares say this to morbidly obese set, even when they walk away with 20 oz sugared sodas) The women have always walked away, murmuring something about being hungry. Of the three times I’ve watched this, I’ve been preparing my diet foods and been grossly offended by the tone those men take. It’s preposterous that anyone presume to speak down their nose to a fucking adult about their DIET in the workplace (unless you’re a personal trainer or nutritionist or something).

The only thing that makes me madder than the assholes who step out of line to say something like they’re a goddamned AA sponsor (and if they were a diet sponsor, don’t you think they should applaud every day you get a salad or broiled fish for lunch, too?)  is the women who JUST WALK AWAY. I’m not even being confronted, and I feel like jumping in and saying something totally reasonable, like, “Oh, are you her nutritionist? Or just her baby-sitter?”

Listen, folks, eat what you want. Don’t let some know-it-all asshole try to tell you what to do JUST because they’re thinner than you. Fuck that noise. If you’re hungry – a bag of baked cheetos, some trail mix or even peanutbutter crackers out of a vending machine can be a somewhat nutritious way to go another few hours. Better to get some semi-decent food than to let your blood sugar drop so low you’re starving. Especially when that starving feeling will be met by the quickest meal you can throw together.

People will always jump all over you telling you what to do, but they won’t be there every day to cheer for you (some people will, most people will not). Assholes will meet you at the vending machine and shame you so deeply, that you take to hiding what you eat. Don’t let anyone do that. Own your choices, because it’s only after you own your choices that you have the power to decide to do something different. Or not.

Now, I will also emphasize that only men have said this to only women. I won’t go so far as to say it’s men telling women they need to watch their figures in order to be successful at work. But it still strikes me as patronizing (hmm… what is the root of that word?), like those men are trying to take control where they see those women are out of control. Which shocks me, because I don’t think a woman studying a vending machine is out of control. Maybe things would just be easier if women couldn’t control money.

I don’t know if I believe all that. But I do know what I believe. If I want a bag of peanut m&m’s and you dare try to shame me out of it, bad things will happen. Like peanut m&m’s stuck inside your disk drive or something.