Two older ladies, perhaps in their forties or fifties, are talking about dieting and food. I'm sitting here wishing every ounce of cellulite and fat on my body would magically shrivel up, die, and vanish into thin air. One of them just started a diet because her clothes are getting tight.
My best friend just had a baby a few months ago and is almost back down to her start weight, of 100 lbs soaking wet. Then again, she's 4'11", but what do I care? It's the WEIGHT that's my problem, my HEIGHT has nothing to do with anything other than my ability to reach things on the top shelf.
Last night, my father made a comment about my weight. He said something to the effect of, maybe if [I] didn't snack before and after meals, I wouldn't have such a pronounced midsection. I came back with something about how I'd learned [over-eating] from the best, with a pointed pat on his shoulders, and soon afterward, retreated to my bedroom.
See, I learned this bingeful, shameful behavior from him. My parents are not thin. They're not fit. Yeah, they're probably healthier than I am, at this point, and that's saying something, considering they both have life-altering/threatening diseases.
I'm 25 and I look like a bloated balloon filled with jelly. Flabby, fat, little to no muscle, I get tired too easily; I'm in constant physical pain because I don't move my body enough. That is fucked up. I have cellulite nearly to my fucking knees... I'm not kidding. I wish I was.
Fortunately, things are changing. On a positive note, I AM losing again. If I eat anything, I basically purge it, the exception being breakfast. I'm counting calories, again, finally. And the pills, well, yes, I'm taking the pills again.
So there's something.
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