Ose
True story: between senior year of high school and junior year of college, I gained about 30 pounds and went from a size 6-8 to a size 14. I was depressed, inactive, and honestly didn’t give two fucks about how much food I stuffed in my face. I watched the number on the scale go up. I wanted to change myself. And instead of doing something healthy, I stopped eating or made myself sick after I did eat something. I dropped 15 pounds in the span of two weeks. It was painful, but I didn’t care because I loved the way I looked.
Today, I am around a size 10. But ever since I lost those initial fifteen pounds, my metabolism and my way of looking at food has changed for the worst. I’m about 95% sure I have an actual case of sugar addiction, and I still have severe issues with food that are totally irrational and crazy. I feel bad for acting the way that I do about what I put into my body, and prefer to eat in private for fear that someone will judge me or question my eating habits. My boyfriend is extremely supportive of me and the way that I look and wants me to be happy regardless of my dress size. And he claims to understand my unique breed of crazy and knows not to offer sweets because it will make me feel awful about myself. And while we’ve had discussions on my gastric crazy, I need to write a portion of this out and getout of my own head because it’s seriously some True Life I Used to be Fat and Crazy but now I’m Half as Fat and Twice as Crazy kind of stuff.
Today I am thinking clearly.
Yesterday I was not. My boyfriend made amazing lamb stew with delicious veggies and beautiful, tender, pieces of an entity that once ‘baa’d’ and ate a lot of grass. And I can’t stop thinking about how delicious it was. However, he also made cous-cous and it totally went against the whole refined carbohydrate hate-train I’ve been on. But I ate it anyway and felt a pang of regret when I finished because I ate a white starchy substance.
That is insane.
After dinner, we dove into some chocolate biscuit cake his Mum had bought for us at Ardkeen in Waterford. I told myself I would only have one piece and that I would be able to resist the temptation for one or eight more. One slice down and all I could think about was the dessert sitting on the table that I wasn’t eating. I couldn’t help myself and had more. And more. Until Al took it away from me after seeing the intensity in my eyes for just one more piece. We went out afterwards, but all I could think about was the biscuit cake that waited for me at home and whether or not I hated myself for eating it or whether or not I would hate myself more or less for having the two pieces left in the fridge.
That is totally insane.
Today we drove from Waterford to Celbridge and met up with his aunt who offered us tea (read: cake, banana bread, and [mother-fucking] chocolate biscuit cake). I had some because I told myself that I deserved it, and that I worked hard enough to be able to enjoy things like biscuit cake. Additionally, I was a guest in this woman’s house and I definitely didn’t want to offend her for not having the treats she offered so willingly.
I do this. I tell myself its ok when I know its not and talk myself into something that I know will eventually make me miserable. And for some reason; be it masochism or addiction, I eat things that will make me sad.
As soon as I got to work, I locked myself in the bathroom and I hated myself. My eyes filled up with tears and I cried. Because I ate biscuit cake; currently my favourite thing in the world. And because I’d already had 12 grams of carbohydrates in a slice of high-fibre bread that morning. I started running over the options in my head: Skip dinner? Eat nothing else for the rest of the day?
That is totally fucking insane and I am not this girl, and this is not a way to live life.
Because this, with the biscuit cake and the carbohydrates and the calorie counting. This is insane. I’m really struggling to find balance, and struggling to understand that I need to make a lifestyle change and that if I eat a ton of sugar one day, I’m not going to wake up in the morning and be a size 14 again. My situation is not unique, and almost everyone struggles with eating – and truthfully, I am so unbelievably fortunate that the people in my life, from my friends to my boy to random people on the internet are so ridiculously positive and involved and encouraging and educated about health and fitness that the only shred of negativity through my whole life has been in my own head.
But the girl who cried over biscuit cake today is the worst. I used to make fun of that girl behind her back. And chocolate biscuit cake is fucking delicious, for God’s sake. I should be crying when I DON’T eat it. Come on now.
