I'm not one of those people who is really down with "fat acceptance." I get that there's the body positivity shit with loving your curves, but it doesn't fly with me. I've never been one to look at my ass when it's rippled with extra uncomfortable pounds and "love it." Sure, I can accept that it's where my body is at, but loving it isn't something I can ever do. It's a personal thing and my daughter gives me shit all the time when I say something about fat being passed off as curvy. I live and let live, but having been at the 300 pound mark once or twice, I call total fcuking bullshit on a lot of it.
Perhaps it's fine for other people, but not for me. Sitting here, I'm afraid to get on my scale. It's been a couple of weeks and I haven't been paying attention. I haven't been paying attention because there's an underlying worry that eats at me and I in turn do this crazy thing of not giving a shit about myself. When I don't give a shit about myself, I fall back into the old habits I had that told me that food was the answer.
In the past decade, I've done a few things to figure out the food thing in my life. When I moved to CT from Taiwan, I was part of a food group where I weighed and measured everything I put in my mouth. I'd practiced this way of eating for about seven years and thought the 12-step-way of life was my thing. Until it wasn't. Maybe I got lazy. Maybe I fell out of love with it all. Maybe I took from the rooms what I needed, but I had to leave the rest. But, I had also started a food business creating products that I didn't even sample for the first three years of business. It was also hard to be an active bulimic again and pretend that I wasn't when I went to the meetings at the church in town.
Since then, I've been figuring out my food for myself. No, I don't want to go back to weighing and measuring my food in that capacity. I love what the program has to offer, but it's not who I am at this point in my life (Added so no one writes me and tells me to come back to the program. Please don't.) While my weight hasn't been back at the glorious 135 pounds that I was at years ago, I know that I'm way overweight.
The Scale Doesn't Lie
My ass is a barometer of my emotions and bank account. I'm not one of those, "I'm so happy" all I want to do is eat people. I'm a "life is crazy" let's pad up type of gal. But, if this shit doesn't stop, I'll end up with a piece of my body cut off from diabetes, Alzheimers, unhappy, and without all of the cute clothing that I so adore.
Over 200 pounds. This didn't happen overnight. It's a slow adding of layers. It's a little bit of cheese here, an extra bowl (fuck who am I kidding, pint) of ice cream here. Yeah, I did this shit to myself. I can also undo it.
I want my 50s to be the start of some of my best years and a body that isn't feeling great isn't going to get me through it. And, I want better clothes.
Did I mention, I want better clothes? I'm vain and my clothes are currently rather ugly because 1) I don't spend a lot of money dressing a body that I don't really love at its current size 2) when I'm in a smaller body, most things look pretty good on me.
Fuck, I prattle on. Dinner of wine and chips really hasn't been a good idea. It's part of this self-sabotaging bullshit that I'm sort of good at. I know it's bad for me. I come from a family of diabetics with high blood pressure among the ranks. Eating shit food should be the last thing I do. Yet, with each bite, I'm fucking myself and I know it.
So, I'm telling on myself. I'm showing this shit because it's not what I want. I don't want to end up this broken down punctuation looking creature who can't stand up straight, is missing toes, and can't enjoy life.
The number on the scale rattled me.
Now, how shall I Unfuck My Body now that I know the extent of the fucking?
Is there more to the fucking of my body than just the weight?
Of course.
I'm serious about doing this and have even started work on a podcast. When I do finally pull my head out of my ass, I get a bit inspired. Here's the cover art.
