The love affair with food started from birth I believe. I was raised southern to the core, and my beautiful wonderful grandmother who isn't with us anymore-- cooked like a goddess. We'd have full spread meals twice a day, and they never skimped on the buttery, deep fried fixins.
I haven't eaten like that since she left us-- but it sticks with you. Even as an adult, I think I've managed to find solace in food. I don't think that I stress eat, since usually if I'm completely stressed out I will not eat at all... but I think that I eat when I'm bored. I eat when I'm lonely. I eat when something looks delicious even if I'm full up to my neck with an earlier meal I overstuffed myself with.
I can't stop. I guess that's why they have things like Over-eaters Anonymous. Thing is, this is the south. We don't have that... we have potlucks and Sunday dinner; and don't dream of going to either without cleaning your plate before you leave.
I don't even think I struggle with food, it's just that much a part of me. I love food. I love the flavor of food. I love the art of inventing recipes. I love eating. I love smelling food. I love food. I don't drink anymore. I don't do drugs. I don't smoke. I eat.
It's not the eating that's hurting me. I don't eat "that" bad to begin with. I can cut out some sugar, and I can find a way to get in some more fruit... but I love veggies and I eat very small servings of meat if I'm at home. It's the lack of exercise.
Ooooh how I LOATHE exercise. Growing up I was a dancer. My self image was a wreck so I actually thought I was huge, when in fact I probably had about 0% body fat until high school. My image hurt me I think. I'd bargain that at that point, it was the first time I ate food because food didn't judge me. Being a dancer though, I was active. I could move around.. and even as I became a "bigger" (because I still wasn't truly fat) adult I could do my splits and move around like I could years before.
Then life happened.. and here I sit. A honest to goodness fat person who is too lazy to get up an exercise. That's what the world sees anyway... but here's the truth.
I'm too fat to move. It hurts. My back hurts, my knees hurt, my heart hurts. When I try to run I feel like I'm going to die-- before I even get out of my yard. If I do squats, my knees pop in and out of the socket, leaving me in excruciating pain for days and days. The fat has now taken over my life.
...and it's fucking terrifying.
I don't WANT to be that way. I want to be that girl, who even if she's a little heavier than most people, goes to the gym or works out regularly. I want to be the girl who can go to a restaurant without being a side show because everyone can't wait to see what the fat chick eats.
I want to be healthy.
I want to live.
I really don't want to die from this... and as it goes, I'll be dead tomorrow if I can't find a way to do something.
It's like the inside of me is screaming at the outside. The inside is a healthy, do-gooder who changes the world while jogging and eating a fruit salad. The outside? Well... she's on the couch, eating a candy bar while watching shows about fat acceptance.