Food and I

We all know that I’ve got a difficult relationship with food.

Food and I have never been friends. Whether it’s food wanting to kill me or make me gain weight by looking at a slice of cake; or whether it’s me avoiding it or eating too much of it.
And let’s not forget my Bulimia days…

My relationship with food is complicated, to say the least…

But something that I decided this year was that I’d relax. I’m not going to be extremely strict with myself anymore. What’s the point? No matter how much I worry about gaining weight, and how much effort I put into losing weight, it’s never happened.

Looking back at my twenty-two years in this world, I’ve realised this:

I’ve spent over half of my life trying to lose weight.

I’ve always been big – no matter what my parents did and no matter how much exercise I did and still do.

My weight has gotten to a point that if I want a chance of losing any kind of weight, it would have to be done with medical assistance. I can budge a maximum of 5KG without assistance. And we all know that extreme dieting and extreme exercise does the opposite of keeping the weight off. Because in the long run, I wouldn’t be able to keep it up.

I work forty hours a week, sat at a desk. I spend an hour travelling each day. I do a minimum of thirty minutes of walking and do step ups on my stairs each night. To lose weight, I need to do all of this, but also only eight hundred calories a day. Which, for someone with my body mass, isn’t safe. Especially considering I suffer from Fatigue and Hypoglycemia.

I know there’s going to be people that will read this and go well I did this! That’s great, congratulations on having a different body type and a different set of issues to me. Congratulations on losing the weight you wanted.

I’m a full on concoction of issues, and none of them are going to help me lose weight. And that’s part of the issue.

I’ve been trying for fourteen years to lose weight, in the ways that work for everyone else but they don’t work for me.

I haven’t found a way that works for me yet. Maybe I will! Maybe I won’t. But either way, I’m not going to beat myself up over it. There’s isn’t a point.

My mental health is poor as is. I’m not going to fat shame myself because everyone else is doing it to me too. I wouldn’t, and don’t, fat shame anyone. So, I’m not going to do it to myself anymore.
I’m going to take care of myself. I can’t have everything, I know that I can’t have the ideal body that society has drilled into me, from the age of eight. But I can take care of my mental health, and I can make sure that I am happy.

Fat is not a bad word.

And if you think it is, then you’re irrelevant to me and I don’t need you in my life. If you think being fat is worse than being an abuser, a bully, and a cunt…

Then, you’re not worth my time.

That’s why I decided to take steps to accept myself. If I can’t be what society wants me to be, I’m going to be what I want to be. I’m going to eat curry until it comes out of my ears, I’m going to walk for miles at the pace I feel good with, and I’m going to laugh like there’s no tomorrow because if I don’t laugh I will cry and there is a much worse fate waiting for me if I let my MDD win – all because people don’t want to see my fat body.

Well, if you don’t want to see my fat – look away.

Because spring is coming, and it’s crop top season…

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