Aug. 18th, 2007

This could have been my secret while I was in high school:

I still remember staring my doctor in the face and insisting I did not have an eating disorder. Yelling at my mother. Ignoring my friends. Of course, I never became skinny enough. Something snapped in me around 18 and I just . . . started eating again. I never quite knew what changed. It just did. I am now 33 pounds heavier than I was when I was 16 (I wish I was kidding) and have been for the last few years. I often look in the mirror and am not terribly thrilled with what I see, but I receive a great amount of pleasure out of food and drink - too much so to go back to that. I no longer obsess (in an all consuming, difficult to think about anything else, kind of way) about food 24 hours a day. I no longer have a desk covered in post-it notes with calorie countings. Eating a bowl of cereal is no longer emotionally and mentally painful. There are days when I wish I could re-awaken that part of my 16 year old self, lose some of this weight again, but most days I am happy to have laid that part of myself to rest. Instead, whenever this foot heals, I'll go back to trying to walk more and attempting to figure out some version of exercise that will hold my attention long enough to lose a few of these beer-induced pounds.

Anyways, sometimes it's good to remind myself where I've been - particularly on days when I'm not feeling terribly fabulous as a human being.



January 2013

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