Food. And Pounds. 137 pounds to be precise. At five foot
one. Never been fatter, thanks to
food the
nightmare is becoming my daily
reality. My clothes
don't fit, my
body doesn't even fit. My
skin shouldn't fit but it gets bigger as
I do. Because of
food. Because of corned beef Reuben with sauerkraut and salad with oil based dressing and crusty fresh bread rolls and baked potato skins and
cookie dough and
cookies and fruit and candies and everything
I can find!
I used to be the smallest
girl in the room,
no matter which room
I entered
pretty much.
A hundred nine pounds only and
all my clothes were loose and my feet never
hurt because they hardly had
a thing to carry and
I enjoyed my
life. Wasn't cramped inside this overstuffed
skin. Now I'm so padded the
obsession can't even reach
me through the
fat. And
I hate it.
Every day is another day
I can't live with this,
like this, another day worth wasting.
I won't
want to
remember this crap.
I want to
forget these days and
go back to
me, 109,
a number worth noticing.
Goodbye,
food.
Twice now, I've gotten far and above what is healthy. I never felt especially unattractive, but I suppose if people had stopped wanting to touch me, I might have. Both times, I slowly, steadily lost weight with excercise, and simply eating smaller portions of healthy food. That's the simplest way, with the most lasting results.
I'm already about a month in to Round Three. Nothing but pilates and a few basic muscle strengthening moves, and I've lost eight pounds. I'm more than willing to be your bitch-about-how-much-we-want-ice-cream buddy, if you decide to do things in a less dangerous manner.