Size Does Count

It is a typically female trait to dislike things about her physical imperfections. Of course, these imperfections are only ever seen by oneself. Anybody else that sees us as being less than attractive aren’t worth any consideration. So, when these are the bodies we are given, why do so few of us accept ourselves?

I have been overweight all my life. As a child I was always told I had puppy fat and that I’d lose it in my teens. In my teens I put a stone on each year until I was 19, each stone matching my age. By the time I was 29 I weighed around 24.5stone. That was my heaviest. Over the course of the last seven years I have lost weight in spurts, in fact I’d lost five stones but now fluctuate around that fifth stone; losing, gaining, losing, gaining. I really am a human yo-yo in so many ways.

I could argue that the lack of stability in my life deems it impossible to control or regiment my diet and exercise. This is partially true; but if you are that focused on a goal you should be able to make the right choices no matter where you are or what you are doing.

I could reason that it is my love of food that prevents me from losing weight successfully. What can I tell you? I love food! The sad truth is that I’m just like every other fatty out there. Greedy. I just choose to do it in private. Guilt free…..well, to an extent. Loving food is no excuse for gluttony. We can still love our food, but in moderation.

I could blame my polycystic ovaries for the ineffectiveness of diet and exercise in my life. It does actually have some credence in that it makes weight loss more difficult. Given, also, that I am too overweight to be treated for it (due to possible side effects of the drugs) I am in a catch 22 situation.

The simple truth is that I diet and I exercise, I watch my calories and I go to the gym. I just don’t do it enough. I don’t do it consistently. The scales fluctuate because my diet fluctuates. I feel worse right now than I have done in a long time. An all inclusive holiday in May has set my hard work right back and now I am clawing away at myself to regain control.

I see more imperfections in me, physically, than just my weight; but my tractor tyre size belly is my worst accessory. I have to wear it everyday. It gets in the way both actually and metaphorically.

When these imperfections affect our wellbeing, we should make changes. I believe someone once told me that and it’s true. Of course we have to reason between what really needs to change and what is just us being overly self critical. For me it’s a no brainer. I need to change.

Last night I thought about my last lover. I felt so badly about myself that it got in the way of me being free with her. I felt so disgustingly inadequate, despite being told that she couldn’t have found me more attractive. I understood the way she looked at me, I just didn’t see it myself nor do I understand the attraction. To me, there is nothing to fancy about my size.

I, somewhat, painfully resounded that I would not even entertain the idea of allowing someone new into my life (should they even present themselves) until I had lost at least half my excess body weight. It is unfair of me to burden another with my feelings of inadequacy; and whilst I believe the right person will neither care what I look like, nor how much I bellyache over it, it is an unfair exhaustion to lay at someone else’s door.

So. The challenge is on. This weight has to become my sole focus. (Particularly difficult when there is so much one needs to do in life.) I need to be healthier in my present and my future, physically and emotionally. I know that I will have much more self respect if I achieve it. And I know I won’t let anyone near me until I do. That is surely incentive in itself?!

I have taken photos this morning of me in my underwear. I won’t share them, you won’t appreciate it. But I will keep them for myself and track my progress. Who knows? Maybe once it’s all gone I’ll release them. The before and after. To shock and amaze…! Fingers crossed….

I don’t need to be super slim, infact I prefer curves on a girl, including myself; but I have gone way beyond curves into morbid obesity and it’s got to stop. I won’t ever have the perfect body, that’s not something I am aiming for; but as anything less than I am will be an improvement, I know to be comfortable in my own skin is a complete probability.

I simply can’t accept myself as is. So maybe, having dropped a few dress sizes and earned my self-respect, I finally will.



Godless, Loveless, Hopeless….?

There have always been far too many questions and not nearly enough answers in life. It’s like having a recruitment drive these days; there’s only one job, but there’s a thousand applicants. Just where do you start? Mind you, at least you can sift through the individuals and eventually hire; finding answers isn’t so easy.

I have always questioned existence, especially my own. It’s easier to justify other people’s existences (for the sake of my own sanity.) The most plausible reason is procreation; I have no desire to procreate, no maternal instincts at all. Some are here with their soulmates to walk through life with; I have no soulmate. Some were born to love; I have entirely forgotten how to and, even if it really exists, I question whether I am capable anymore. Some follow the word of religion and even base their life’s work on it; I am distinctly irreligious. So just where do you go? What do you do when you have absolutely no purpose or belief system? I realise I am merely concentrating on what I don’t have, as opposed to what I do, but what I have isn’t making me happy at my core; so.

There are, obviously, two options. Live, or die. We have the right and freedom to choose either. And how easy would the latter be; to have it all over and done with? You may say this is morbid, but this doesn’t come from a state of depression; it’s a logical, practical thought; death would be a blessed relief to my mind. And I know that life is precious and I know there is much enjoyment to be had; I do fill my life with……stuff, and just maybe there are better things to come. I have had love, I have friends, I have family….but this search for happiness keeps proving inconclusive. I just don’t understand what needs to be achieved to be perfectly happy, apart from being in love. Maybe there is no such thing as perfect happiness. Maybe it’s an illusion; a blind faith/hope. Death would end the quest. Death would bring relief (well, it would if you were around to enjoy it.) No more questions, no more striving, no more pain, no more bullshit. Now, to be brutally honest, that sounds like heaven to me.

So then there’s life; the option to just carry on living. The thing about having no purpose, no meaning, no hope, no belief, is that it’s two fold. It’s intensely depressing…..but also, it’s quite liberating. If there is no meaning, there’s almost no consequence. That’s not to say that we should ignore right from wrong; but at the same time, what does anything matter? Live, die, love, be happy, be sad, it’s all completely irrelevant. We will all die one day anyway, so no matter what you do, we’ll all end up the same; in a box or a furnace. And at that point, will how you lived your life have any relevance? Either way, why not go for it? Learn everything, do everything, go everywhere, fall in love, be heartbroken, break hearts, fuck up, make amends, be reckless, who cares? You’re only here once, thank goodness, so do whatever you want. Choose whatever you want.

Do, or do nothing. Be, or not to be. Pick one and don’t worry about what comes next. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. If true happiness comes, bonus. If not, oh well, at least you can say you lived as well as you could. It all depends on how much effort you want to put in. You could have it all, if you wanted; couldn’t you?