Day 11
That’s it? Day 11? WTF? I haven’t been doing this long
enough to get my rhythm right much less be sick of it. But here I am sick of it
already. Sick of the weighing AND the measuring. Sick of peeing constantly.
Sick of my dry hands and cuticles because of all the hand washing, you know, because
of the peeing. I do not want a salad with grilled chicken for lunch. I want a
grilled cheese sandwich from the amazing Gorilla
Cheese food truck. I work at a University and there are food trucks ALL
OVER, each one better than the next. This week has not been so good, no binges,
but just not as careful as I should be. Just not as careful as I have been. I’ve
hardly had any water. The thing is we haven’t been doing this very long. Just about 3 weeks. I haven’t weighed myself this week, but there was a brownie incident
on Monday. I ate one. The thing that
kills me is that, after 2 bites, I didn’t want it anymore. So why then, did I
shovel it down? I can’t help but feel like if I knew why food was my drug then
I would be able to conquer it. Right now
I just feel like my grasp on the control that I do have is tenuous
at best.
I know this for fact. While I am sick and tired of weighing
and measuring and thinking about what I am going to eat. I am way more sick and
tired of feeling and looking like this. I do not want to be one of those people
who are willing to “forgive” themselves for (time and time again) not following
their plan. Listen, sometimes when Al gets on them, I cringe a little bit
and think, ‘Yeesh, he’s mean’. While I don’t feel to call people out, he
totally has a point. What the fuck have you been doing for 2, 3, 6 years now? Frankly,
the hell with them, what the fuck have I been doing? Answer: Nothing good. I’ve
been giving up, or “forgiving” myself. I have been ‘deciding to love myself’
into an early grave. I’ve been telling
myself that it is ok if I eat this fried chicken or that ice cream. It is
decidedly NOT ok. It’s not ok that I am
this heavy. It’s not ok that I take blood pressure medication. It’s not ok that
the men who do look at me are chubby chasers. It is not ok that I have to shop
in the “woman’s” department. I’m going to this conference next week and feel like
I would like a few new things. It would be great to pop over to any of the many
stores that are around here, but I can’t. There is no fat girl store in the fashionable
West Village.
I was thinking this morning about what it would be like to
not be an obese person. What would it be like to just be normal? How it would
feel to not need a seat extender. How it would feel to not be self conscious at
the beach or pool. How it would feel to be labeled as lazy or slovenly. How
would it feel to just eat what I need and keep it moving after that?
Last week, there was talk in the news about a new study
which says that women who are overweight have an increased risk of not only,
returning breast cancer but also death. So let me see… if you are fatty you
have to grapple with diabetes, heart disease and increased likelihood of cancer
and death. Awesome. Oh and let us not
forget the social stigma of being overweight. People stare at you and judge
you. They do. I’m tired of hating myself
and feeling bad about what I look like. What I look like does not represent
what I would like the world to see when they look at me. More importantly I
would like to look at myself and feel really good about the reflection. I want
my outside to match my inside. I know there is a more exciting, vibrant,
energetic person in here somewhere.
*Lightblub/duh stupid moment* The chance to feel good about
me is worth more than the temporary buttery, cheesy, crispiness of a grilled
cheese sandwich. I know that I know
this. I just need to implement it on a regular basis.
Answer: Cheesy goodness ain't so important.
No comments:
Post a Comment