The aftermath

This time next week I’ll be in surgery. Tummothy’s great departure will have begun.

And I am so in my head. The anxiety of the surgery has come and gone.

The anxiety of recovery has come and gone.

But now I’m in my head wondering, “Have I done enough?”

Have I lost enough weight? It’s a weird thought, honestly. My surgeon says he doesn’t think he’ll be doing any lipo. He assures me this is all skin.

I worry about my own insecurities after. Will this be enough? Will my thighs now plague me in the same way Tummothy does? I’ve already named them. Thighresa. Isn’t that the first step?

Then my arms? What about my neck? I’ve just recently started noticing my neck skin being loose. I picture myself looking like Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas when I’m finally happy.

Is that what I want though?

How long will I look at my body under a microscope? When will enough be enough? When I’m dressed and compressed I really like my body. I like the shape. The curves. The size. Everything about it. But dressed and compressed.

Is this just me being product of the 90s? Protruding hip bones the epitome of beauty. I see these big girls on TikTok that love their bodies. I love their bodies. Yet, I see them and think my skin doesn’t look like that. It’s loose, it’s wrinkly, it’s not…the right kind of fat?

I lay down in bed and I envision myself looking like a melting snowman.

My pictures confirm this.

Perhaps today is the day I start looking for therapist that specializes in body dysmorphia and body acceptance.

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