When my boyfriend was on the graveyard shift, he would leave by nine o clock every night. It was weird, because I hated to see him go but at the same time, a part of me was counting down until his truck pulled out of the apartment gate and he was on his merrily way. I feel like such a hypocrite, too, now writing this, but when he would be leaving, I would be dressed like I was going to bed. I mean, decked out in a robe or whatever. But as soon as he was gone, the robe was off, the fat pants were on, and then the wide width shoes, keys in hand and I was out the door, to the nearest opened location to buy chips and dip. And sometimes, a microwave pizza. I knew this would be gone by the time he came home the next morning, all the "evidence" stuffed into a plastic bag and already in the trash bin just outside our apartment. He'd never suspect a thing, Id tell myself. Honestly, I wish he had. I knew I was going to be hitting rock bottom, and I needed help and I do better with gentle confrontation. I remember now how those store clerks used to look at me...with a look of pity and disgust. Poor fat girl. No one to love her, no one but this here bag of chips(Lays, the wavy kind, you know in the red bag that taunt you with that "20% more!" claim) and two containers of dip.(the dip by itself totaled 110 grams of fat!) I hated that look, it always made me want to cry, and scream at them but make them understand how lonely I was/am. But they didnt care, and I guess, neither did I. Just ring me up and I'll go home and read my Fitness magazine now, thank you.
Sometimes I get so frustrated with myself. I constantly ask myself, How did I get here? When was that moment that I stopped caring about myself, that exact moment that I couldnt control, ok maybe didnt want to control what I was putting in my mouth? When did food start tasting better than life? I cannot pinpoint any moment, and I guess, even if I could, I cannot change anything in the past. Id still be where I am today, fat and unsatisfied and sitting in the computer chair, writing about it.
I used to think that I feared death. Lately, I am beginning to realize that I do not fear death, not really, but I fear dying fat. I fear what the obitiuaries will say,(Obese woman dies while working out!) what will people say("She always had SUCH a pretty face!")...I fear that even on my deathbed, all people are going to talk about is how fat I look in my coffin. Isnt that horrible or worse, vain? A part of me wants to laugh, though, because I can just picture my relatives burying me in something black so that I'll look more slim :) Theyll probably ask the mortitioner if he can put me on the South Beach diet to get the bloated look off my face. Sigh.
Too much depressing crap, huh!? Ok, well my boyfriend and I went walking for 2 miles today! Hey, thats allot for a girl who can barely move her left leg because I went ape shit on the elliptical machine the other day! I am going to try to go walking first thing in the morning and then again later at night tomorrow....I can do this, I know it.
This is a picture of a cake(MMMMM cake! It was the yummiest cake ever too!) My parents got it for me before I moved to California but I wanted to put it up for myself now as some sort of expression of good will!
2 comments:
Okay you said something that really touched me... "When did food start tasting better than life?"... That sums up so many things I feel. Am I so tired of worrying that I eat cause that is comforting? Am I so tired of stress that I want the sated feeling of a full stomach? We must fight to make life more beautiful and more worthwhile than food!
I know I'm responding to a really old post, but I thought it was necessary. This entry broke my heart. I, too, eat in secret sometimes. On my way to work, when my husband has softball practice, when he's mowing the grass...I feel your pain.
I just wanted you to know that you are not alone.
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