Losing Weight: Alice in Wonderland, The Matrix, and The Wicked Witch of the West

"I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other; but the great question is, 'What?'"
— Alice (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland)

Grace Slick of the iconic rock band The Jefferson Airplane in the famous song “White Rabbit” likened the story of Alice in Wonderful to a psychedelic drug trip. Still, I cannot help but wonder if Lewis Carroll, author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland ever pondered weight loss and proprioception.

I’ve lost 20% of my body weight. It was intentional weight loss. The rationale was based on legitimate health concerns and not based on appearances. Part of me is still too rebellious to lose weight merely because you are “supposed to” or because you will “look better”. I honestly didn’t care.

It had to be done for very specific health reasons, and I had reached what I felt was a point of no return, where something had to be done now or never.

“Sorry, you're much too big. Simply impassable.”
— The Doorknob (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland)

Since losing the weight several things have changed. No longer do I feel as though I am lumbering rather than walking. I feel colder now and more fit; I don’t huff and puff as much. I have begun to pull out skinny clothes from the closet — clothes I had hardly dared hope I would wear again.

On the other hand, I can’t help but think about some parallels with the original Matrix movie. All the characters in the “real” world were rather grey and grungy, yet while in the Matrix they were unbelievably attractive. When the protagonist, Neo, asked 'Why?', he was told that whilst in the Matrix everyone envisions themselves through a “residual self-image”.

“Is it really so hard to believe? Your clothes are different, the plugs in your arms and head are gone, your hair has changed. Your appearance now is what we call 'residual self-image'. It is the mental projection of your digital self.”
— Morpheus (The Matrix)

Yes, I get this. When I walk by a mirror unexpectedly or suddenly glimpse my reflection in a window, I am often shocked by what I see. In my mind’s eye, I am expecting my Matrix-like residual self-image, but instead I see… well, I see reality.

But this weight loss is more than somehow reacquiring a lost self-image. I also seem to be losing a sense of who and where I am. My sense of self is subtly altered.

“I'm afraid I can't explain myself, sir. Because I'm not myself, you know.”
— Alice (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland)

Years ago I spoke with a friend who was morbidly obese and had undergone bariatric surgery. Her stomach had been reduced in size so — for the immediate period after the procedure, at least — she could not physically overeat.

She looked wonderful. Slim. She did have places of sagging skin, but she had them tucked away, and they couldn’t be seen. She claimed happiness and I had no reason to doubt her.

I did, however, ask if she felt different. Not in standard and predictable ways, such as looking more aesthetically pleasing, being more socially acceptable, being more mobile, improved sleep and all the other benefits we are told to expect with weight loss.

I asked her about her sense of self; about her physical space in the world and if the enormous change had in some way an effect on her sense of identity, of place. If a tall person suddenly became short, would it affect their sense of how to physically navigate their world? Would it change their sense of importance? Their confidence? Does the physical space one occupies have any bearing on one’s mental sense of place in the world? She didn’t understand what I was getting at, so I let it drop.

I wear a diabetic sensor on my arm; I am an early adopter of this device. When my granddaughter asked me what the button was for, I replied that it was an on-off button and suggested she press it. She pressed and I would freeze. She pressed again and I would return to life. Lots of laughs, lots of fun. Now very popular, they are slim disks applied to the upper arm. They are about as thick as two quarters stacked together. It would seem like nothing, but so many times I have torn them off my arm by scraping a doorway. My sense of where I am, proprioception, is so refined that without thinking I know the space my body occupies by almost a hairsbreadth. I don’t whack the sensors off my arm anymore.

We believe we have five senses: Vision, Hearing, Taste, Smell, and Touch, which are the most commonly known. But there are three others: balance or equilibrium is one, interoception (an internal sense that advises you of hunger, thirst, temperature and more), and lastly proprioception.

Proprioception is defined as “the sense of the relative position of neighbouring parts of the body and strength of effort being employed in movement”. We seldom think about it, but proprioception allows us to know where our body parts are, physically, and enables us to navigate our world. Proprioception is what allows us to clap our hands, touch our noses, or write with a pencil with our eyes closed. We also use it to navigate narrow spaces.

Proprioception affects how we perceive our body size. Another example that illustrates this sense is when you have freezing done at the dentist. Your tongue feels much larger inside your mouth, even though it’s still the same size. It is your perception that has changed. Novocain, Lidocaine, and other drugs in that family, in addition to deadening sensation, temporarily impair proprioception.

Studies (such as Senol et al, 2019) have confirmed that stress can alter your senses, including that of proprioception.

The change in proprioception following weight loss is difficult to explain. I felt fat, now I feel smaller; I felt in control, then out of control, and then ineffably vulnerable. Like the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz, when she cried:

“Ohhh! … I'm melting! Melting!… Oh, what a world! What a world…! Look out! Look out! I'm going! Ohhhh — Ohhhhhhhhhh!”

Studies conducted to better understand anorexia have shed more light on proprioception. According to the literature, one’s perception of the self includes drawing a mental bubble around the body. A disruption in this bubble can be triggered from weight gain or weight loss and may explain why anorexics “feel fat” even though they are undernourished.

There are other, even more subtle, changes that would seem incongruent and inexplicable. Perhaps some of these odd sensations, feelings, or even emotions are tied to the process of weight loss.

How exactly does one lose weight? Where does it go? I believe the best way to explore this question is to outline the basic mechanisms of the process (as best I understand it).

In essence, we store back-up energy in fat cells, some of which are found around the organs (the ominous visceral fat) and others under the skin (subcutaneous fat). Smaller reserves are stored in the muscles, the liver, and the brain. Without going into all the myriad theories of diet, exercise and basal metabolism, let’s just use the old axiom — “if you eat less and move more, you will burn fat”.

So, if you take in less energy than you need to maintain the body’s status quo, the body will turn to its fat reserves for energy. Your body will metabolize this fat, and in the process fatty acid molecules are released into the blood stream. From there they head to your heart, lungs, and muscles, all of which break them up to access the energy stored within their chemical bonds.

The weight you shed is essentially the byproduct of this process. There are two byproducts remaining: water and carbon dioxide. The water is excreted when you sweat and urinate, and the carbon dioxide departs when you exhale. In fact, most of the weight loss is through your lungs. Perhaps some is lost in tears, but the literature is silent on that notion: that's just me unraveling a thread.

It’s also worthwhile to remember that fat cells don’t disappear and don’t burn away. They are there forever. It is the fat within those cells that needs to be released into the body. When enough of the fat cells’ contents is liberated, the cell is essentially emptied out and shrinks accordingly. Of course, as many of us know, those little flexible storage tanks are completely happy to be refilled.

Wonderful process, but as is often said, “it’s complicated”.

Environmental pollutants and other toxins are stored in fatty tissue. During weight loss, fat breaks down and toxins are discharged into the bloodstream.

Studies indicate that not all fat is created equal, and the release is unequal. The dreaded visceral fat holds more toxins than the more innocuous subcutaneous fat. Either way, these toxins are just that: toxic. They exert inflammatory changes while being slowly released into the bloodstream and lungs as described above. Where those toxins go from there, and how long they travel around us seeking a new home (or getting excreted) is hard to say.

“Who. Are. You?”
— Caterpillar (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland)

So yes, I feel different; weird even. Like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland where the “eat me” cake causes you to grow and the “drink me” potion causes you to shrink, I feel “curiouser and curiouser”. And like the Wicked Witch of the West, I feel like I’m melting and losing my place in the world.

But my jeans look better.