I am not David Copperfield. I will not be beginning at the beginning. Sorry. Oh yes, just a warning... I am a horrid writer (I will get into why at a later date) and I tend to wander. Thank God for spell check, at least anyone who happens to read this crap won't be subjected to bad spelling. lol
So. Yeah. I'm fat. Big shock, I know.
I am not happy about it. I know that there are things I can do to change it. My disconnect seems to be applying the knowledge I have. I mean, I can talk about how to lose pounds until the cows come home but I can't seem to make it happen. I was sort of successful for a bit in '08. Lost about eighty pounds. I have managed to put almost all of it back on.
I feel like such a failure. A total loser. I think I may be ready to take another run at this thing. I kind of hope so. I need to do it. I am 45 and morbidly obese. Shit. Try typing that one out and reading it back to yourself. If I don't do something, I am going to end up killing myself. Not really something I want to do.
So, back to tracking calories (that is what works for me, when I actually apply myself to the process) and getting some exercise. Walking, to start. Drinking enough water and finding things to do to keep myself busy and not thinking about feeding my face stuff it doesn't need or really even want.
Funny how overeating becomes a habit. Like smoking or drinking or drugs. Becomes your feel good. Your safety net and your way to block out the screaming inside. Sadly, like other vices, it is only temporary. But it has just as devastating an effect on your body. It piles on excess pounds, clogs your arteries, fouls up your heart, screws up your joints and back and makes you miserable.
But the pull of overeating is often stronger than the misery. The pain. The physical and mental pain of it. Feeding affords a small window of blissful peace. A quiet mind and an absence of the chaos filling my brain and senses. It takes away the loneliness and despair for a little while. For that short time, I feel filled, fulfilled and happy. And I want that to repeat as much as I can.
I guess one could say I have my reasons for getting to this point. Fat makes a fine and dandy shield against the world and the more there is between me and it, the safer, more insulated I feel. I don't have to worry that I am going to be an object of desire, looked at and appreciated. It is safer not to be. It is easier not to be. I can just not deal with it.
Fat makes me invisible. It renders me irrelevant. I am a non person. I am unimportant, unwanted, unworthy.
A part of me says, "Fine. Carry on as you will, then." And another rages against it. For a while, the part of me that rages was winning. The other side took over, tho. Squashed down that side of me which was fighting for myself. I don't think that I like that. Well, actually, I know that I don't like it. And I want to change it.
Hell, I need to change it.
Before it is too late.
Am I worthy? I don't know... I will have to think on that one. Am I ready to open myself up to being visible? Am I able to cope with the very real possibility of being seen? Can I gather up the courage to throw off the chains that bind me here and be free? Am I ready to break free of the prison of my body?
Prison is a comfortable place to be.
Parole is scary.