Tuesday, November 20, 2012


(if anyone other than me reads this, i'm trying to keep track of what i eat, because i forget half the time. it's boring but i want to have something to refer to. also, you know those moments where you're like, holy shit, i think i'm doing it, but i don't want to let Me know! maybe if i kind of ignore it, Me won't notice. the past couple of days i've been eating a lot better and i don't want to draw any bit of attention to it because then it means i have to keep doing it and it goes from positive to burdensome in an instant.)


cottage cheese with grapes
coffee with fat free half&half and sugar

1 oikos key lime greek yogurt
half an apple sliced with 1 tbsp peanut butter, on 2 pieces whole wheat bread

green tea
15 pretzels

1 trader joe's paneer tikka masala meal over spaghetti squash

today (so far): 

coffee with fat free half&half and sugar
piece of toast (whole wheat) with pumpkin spice butter

spaghetti squash with steamed peas and asparagus
1 oikos blueberry greek yogurt

coffee with fat free half&half and sugar

Sunday, November 18, 2012

the girl that deserves...

I don’t know how to not be ashamed of my large size. My fat. I don’t like using the word fat. It makes me feel that aforementioned shame.

I can hear my grandmother say so judgmentally “that has a lot of calories” to me when I was making that mozz pesto sandwich in the kitchen. I remember my mom telling me she was afraid I wouldn’t get a job because of my weight/size. In high school, responding to my desire that I wanted to maybe be a cheerleader with, you need to start by losing 30 pounds. Listening to my godmother rail on herself, and hearing my mom tell me my godsister wanted to essentially have an intervention with me about my size/weight/weight gain.

It’s not like I don’t notice, that I don’t feel it or see it. That I want to hide sometimes and not do certain social things that may involve increased attention, like fancy bars or clubs or bachelorette parties where it’s all about women on display, getting all gussied up and wearing tight jeans and heels and flirting with men because they can. I’m the one that no man talks to, or does it b/c he’s the wingman that drew the short straw. Here’s where you tell me that I’m projecting it, that it’s not really there, but you’re wrong. There’s that shame again.

And now, this idea of food addiction, like I’m a lowlife degenerate mainlining pasta and cake, it makes me feel worse. How am I supposed to value myself and take care of myself and love myself enough to change when this is how I view it? I’m ashamed and I feel low and don’t want to spend time thinking about how I look, how will that translate into me loving myself? Suddenly it comes from a place of pride and care about myself? How can I care about a degenerate? How do I value that person? That fat ugly person that looks forward to going home at night and ordering delivery or making food she already has, but too much of it, while watching tv, and then goes straight to bed? And finds that comforting?

A distraction from the fact that I have no one to go home to. Because I’m fat and don’t want to be seen. I want to be loved but I don’t want to be seen. I want someone to do the loving me, so I don’t have to, because I don’t know what that’s like. I feel like the things you’re supposed to do if you have self-respect, I haven’t really done those things, have i? I’ve drank too much, I’ve gotten in trouble with the law (once), I’ve not gone to events beacuse of shame and pride when I could have gone, i've had sex with people that weren’t good for me, couldn’t/wouldn’t leave because I liked the attention, and sometimes at the expense of morals. For what? I can be a really ugly person sometimes and I have been.  The last thing I truly regret doing was not going to **** and ******* wedding, in 2009. That was the last time I was at my highest weight, and so depressed from not finding a job. I’m back up at that weight now, and I’m feeling ashamed and depressed while wedding dress shopping with **********. I’m the heaviest of the bridesmaids, I can’t wear a strapless dress and look good in it. I’m ashamed, and I’ll be ashamed in front of about 200 people.  

It feels like a mountain to actively ignore all of that and push that down and pretend I am a person motivated and ready to finally make that life for this girl who deserves it. Who I’m supposed to believe deserves it.