I've been subduing my sensitive side on this blog lately, opting for less gory material as I transition into a profession that bares only my name. But I'm throwing up my hands on that one for the time being and throwing up a nice healthy chunk of language because I'm hungry and annoyed. The hunger is caused by a changed eating habit that incorporates smaller, more frequent meals and a very low caloric intake. The annoyance is caused by the hunger.
For those of you who know me, I'm chubby. Some would say fat, though I choose not to. For most of my life I have been chubby, save for a short time in high school when I "discovered" starvation and got down to a size 8 - which by many standards is still "fat". Since then, I've gone between 12 -14-16 regularly.
Until two years ago, I barely thought about my weight - I thought. I never dieted, even when I was on the heavier side. When I started planning my wedding in 2006, I freaked, as I'm sure most women do. Friends and family I rarely see. Pictures that will last for-ev-er. I went on the South Beach Diet, which consists of mostly meat protein, very little carbohydrates and the substitution of sugar with alternative. It worked. I lost 8 inches around my waist between my first dress fitting and the day I tried on the original muslin, much to her chagrin but happiness for me. It felt great. I gave up sugared soda and learned about portions, but I was miserable without bread and pasta. I ended that diet a few weeks before my wedding when my husband convinced me to try vegetarianism, which made great sense to me after some investigation. By the time December rolled around, I had gained all of that weight back.
Fast forward to 2008, past endless diets and fasts, pounds lost and pounds gained. I'm miserable. More miserable than I've ever been, because I've realized that my problems with food and weight are much more than a few extra calories not burned on the treadmill. My problem is my head. And this problem has been reocurring, but hidden behind the other crap my brain has been dealing with.
(Remember, I warned you at the beginning of this post. )
Being an emotional eater is not at all out of the ordinary. I imagine there are more women who do it than women who don't, so I've found no shortage of confidants in the battle. It just sucks, and will always suck. And attempting to deal with the problem, while cutting calories and ending the binging, is like losing your best friend when you need them most. There's no one to quiet the horror inside my head; just visions of mashed potatoes. Withdrawl.
Crappy food is everywhere. Horrible, high calorie, saturated fat touting foods that are advertised on Television all hours of the day. Why not have a Carls Jr. Hamburger stuffed with bacon? Why not add double meat to your Subway sandwich? You've got to eat M&M's. And Ice Cream. And don't forget to take a trip to Taco Bell for fourth meal! These are not foods that I ever eat. But when I'm "dieting", they sound like gourmet, gotta have foods.
In fact, the only time that I truly feel hunger is when I'm dieting. Not because I'm always eating, but because, when I'm just normal me, I eat when my emotions tell me to. Not my stomach. I eat when my Mom calls. I eat when I'm depressed. I eat when I'm manic. I eat when I'm bored. I don't eat tons of garbage or thousands of calories. I just eat what makes me feel better.
It's sad. And I've tried to fix it, and failed, so many times. This battle trumps the battle with manic depression; because success is like a pipe dream. At least with the MD I can taste happiness and feel progression that doesn't recind with one mistake. Emotional eating controls my life.
And though I've never felt like my weight horribly affects my beauty, I've realized recently that I never admitted to myself that my weight was a problem. Now, as a "grown up", I have. I feel like I'm shorting myself life. I've begun losing confidence because I don't feel comfortable in my body. I feel like the person on the inside is lost by the person on the outside, who just feels out of control - not ugly - just wrong. It affects my relationship with my husband, not because of how he feels but because I am uncomfortable sharing what I am with him.
It might sound like another fat girl's sob story, but this "chubby" girl has never felt like this. So out of control. Ashamed, and defeated. I used to think fat wasn't bad; and now I think that fat is all that's possible. I can't even imagine being comfortable in my own body, but the thought of what I'm stuck with causes thoughts of actions I won't share with you in this public blog post. And when it comes down to it, when it hurts and I eat, I feel better. I feel comforted.
And the comfort is defeat.
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