320

Awesome. I'm now two pounds heavier than when I first started paying attention and freaked out. Two pounds doesn't sound like much but it is when you're already over 300 pounds.

In bed last night, I started thinking about the fat on my body. I tried visualizing it melting away like a weird special effect. I tried picturing my face without the double chin and big cheeks. I told myself to look up The Surgery to see how much it would cost. I don't even care which one. Lap band, stapled stomach, whatever. Just make me stop being fat because I clearly can't do it for myself.

I was going to go on a sugar fast. I had all the intention. I had a partner to help me and support me and a friend that was going to do it with me. I refrained from buying sweet things during the grocery shopping and even switched to regular cream instead of flavored.

And then life kicked me. And I gave up. That's the truth really.  I could say it was because Halloween was too close and it was pointless. I could say it was because I was depressed and sweet things make me happy. And it was these things. But it was also that I don't care enough. I wish I did, but I don't. I just get mad about the fat and sad about the fat and then go eat a cookie.

I start to care about the fat when I'm struggling to feel comfortable in my clothes, or getting into the car, or going up and down the stairs. I care about the fat when I look at myself in the mirror or I weigh myself or I don't feel like being naked because I feel gross.

It's probably not the fat I should be caring about. If I didn't, maybe I could let it go. I can't let anything go. That's part of the problem. I hold onto things and they turn to food because I like food. And food on the plate is never left and ice cream and sweets are for celebrating and pancakes or eggs benedict or waffles drenched in syrup are delicious for breakfast.

I don't know how to not eat. I keep thinking about Fat Bastard. Hell, sometimes I feel like him. "I eat because I'm unhappy and I'm unhappy because I eat. It's a vicious circle."  I'm sure Mike Myers didn't intend for that line to hit me so hard with it's truth. While I'm nowhere near eating a baby, I so feel the Bastard on this.

I guess I can try again. Maybe a little harder this time. But then, there's Thanksgiving and Christmas and so much good food and baking and I think I've mentioned how much I like sweet things. I don't like this time of year particularly, but I'm going to try to since this year I'll be with The Fella and that's gotta be different, better, than previous years.

But how do I not indulge? It's not so easy as just saying I won't. I might as well don a kilt and start talking about baby back ribs.* (I recognize that these comparisons are completely lost on anyone that hasn't seen the Austin Powers movie with the character Fat Bastard but that's why we have the Google).  

I tried baking with fake sweet things-splenda and the like- and fuck that. It's not the same. I need to learn moderation not substitution. In all honesty it helps to be broke. I'm not eating out nearly as much as I used to and when I go grocery shopping I don't like to buy a lot of things The Fella can't eat because I don't want him to think that I'm a glutton.

Pretty sure those two extra pounds came from Halloween candy, delicious pms cake and french toast breakfasts. But it doesn't really matter where they came from because here they are, hanging out in a chin or my ass. I don't even know which because I stopped looking at myself.

I am the one that is in charge of my body. So. Do I chose to be splurge and enjoy good things often or do I chose to be responsible and moderate my yummy thing intake?

I've gotta do something because I'm not happy in this body of mine. It's affecting me in other ways-mentally-and that in turn is affecting people around me. I've stopped the self deprecation (at least in front of other people) because that's just not cool and it makes me look like a dick. I saw a pic of myself and thought, ok, at least I'm smiling. On the outside. Inside I'm screaming about the roll of muffin over my waist band or that when I bend over I feel angry because I can't do it easily.

Something has to change and it changes with me but I just don't know how much I care.