Fear and Self-loathing in SpringVegas.
By purple goddess on February 03, 2009
THIS is what is sitting in my 'fridge, for my lunch today. Pretty
hot, hey?? Pretty sexy?? Pretty me.. you know, the whole
fresh/local/SOLE/Asian with a twist thing that pg does so well. Yup.
It's perfect, and given that Furry and I are trying to lose weight,
perfect on the fat/lo cal front too.
At school, I was the odd girl
out. I was the only one that DIDN'T have an eating disorder. I managed
to avoid the teen age angst of yo-yo diets and Israeli Army lunch
boxes. I ate whatever I pleased and stayed the same size (9st 2oz).
I had my children. And over the course of 5 years, I doubled my weight.
But I had discovered feminism by that stage, and so the weight gain
bothered me on a health level, but certainly NEVER on a physical "I
repulse myself/ I am not attractive/ my husband won't like me" level.
My husband at the time actually DIDN'T like me, but that a whole 'nother post!
gave up the 2 a night wine, and cut out sugar in my coffee and within
months, was at a healthy weight range (AUS size 12), which I maintained
with no effort until the day my daughter started high school. I was
wearing her size 12 jeans that day.
That was years ago. And in
the interim, I've been divorced, re-married, turned 30.. turned 40. I
navigated my daughter through her own minefield of adolescence and
PCOS. And yes, my weight has fluctuated but never once did I experience
anything like the self hatred I am going through at the moment.
I AM PHYSICALLY DISGUSTED WITH MY BODY.
feel like I went to bed some time last October (the month I gave up
smoking) and woke up being anally probed by fat-firing alien gamma
No matter what I eat, I continue to put on weight. I can feel myself physically spreading before mein very eyes.
is not just middle-aged spread, or a bit of a muffin-top. This is hard
core McValue Upsize Supersize Mc Muffin Muffin Top (Royale, with Cheese)
can no longer fit into most of my clothes, and went on a week long
crying jag over Summer, when I realised that I simply HAD to buy a pair
of elastic waisted pants.
Come on.. this is me.. PG..
Self-esteem Girl... the one all my friends look up to BECAUSE I REALLY
DON"T CARE about my weight... crying like Tammy Fae Bakker over the
numerals one and eight.
When I wear low waisted jeans I look
like a warfie, or a garbo. And when I wear higher waisted work pants, I
develop this weird double-bulge. Like twee English villages, I have
named them Upper Pork-Gut and Lower Pube Porch.
Anapurna I and
II are currently residing in my hideous new bra, fashioned by ex- Nazi
industrial engineers. I refer to it as the Spandex Monster, and it
makes me feel about as sexy as an outbreak of smallpox.
And the other symptom that I am noticing, is the fatter and more repulsive I get, the more I crave crap.
While the above lo fat dish is sitting in my 'fridge, I am fighting the
urge to slam my face into the tub of leftover Pizza Hut Oven Baked
Creamy Pasta that some pillock has left in the 'fridge.
Seriously, I had this reaction after Furry's heart attack. While he was
lying in the cardiac ward, I had craving after craving for KFC. And
this time, it's the same. The fatter I get, the harder it is to resist
racing out and buying a Chicko Roll.
I will NOT go back to smoking. But any head way I have made,
health-wise, by giving up the fags, has been eaten up by this massive
and continuous and UNEXPLAINED weight gain.
I look like the love child of Jabba the Hut and Demis Roussos.
I'm on Fat Highway, heading North.
And, for the first time ever, I feel like the fat chick at the school dance.
And I am certain that everyone is looking. And sniggering.
I fucking hate it.
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