All the food. In my mouth.
On January 2, 2013 I woke up, looked in the mirror and realized:
But I was too hungover to care so I was like:
Fuck it. I’ll start dieting tomorrow.
So on January 3, I got real with myself. I realized that the last few months I had been really focused on:
And getting dressed in the morning had become a lesson in sadness and pain. All my clothing was either elastic or featured:
Mmmm snack pockets I miss you.
So I decided to overhaul my life. Time to get serious. Time to work out. I joined a boxing gym, looked around at the equipment and decided:
And my titties mean a lot to me.
So I strapped my chest potatoes down with two sports bras and hit the gym. And at the end of each class I had to be Medevac-ed out of the building while thinking:
I worked out for weeks but I wasn’t losing weight. So I gave up dairy.
And then I gave up gluten.
And then I gave up the will to live.
I avoided leaving my house. Going to dinner with friends was impossible because everyone wants to order fried calamari or artichoke dip and you feel like an asshole for saying, “Sorry, I can’t eat it because”:
And your friends are like:
Sure you are.
And then you eat the calamari. And you eat the artichoke dip. And on your way home from dinner you stop at McDonald’s and then Taco Bell and begin a mad descent into a crippling two-day food bender that makes you feel like:
After two days of eating like a fat monster with a diabetic death wish:
But then something happened:
And I looked in the mirror and said:
Somehow the binge eating had tricked my body into losing weight! And I couldn’t stop myself from going:
But then I hit the workout/weight loss plateau and no matter what I did and no matter what I didn’t eat nothing was happening. And I decided.
So instead of working through the plateau I turned back to food.
I want to know where all the food is. Give it all to me. RIGHT NOW.
I was angry. My blood sugar was jumping up and down like a coked up toddler in a bouncy house. I was flying off the handle at everyone. Making insane demands like:
I sank into a deep depression. The body I had worked for was slowly slipping away.
I could feel the icy grip of cellulite wrapping its dimpled fingers around my hips and buttocks. No. NO! I made a promise to myself to get healthy, to make my heart stronger, my skin brighter, and most importantly to be as thin as humanly possible. I prayed to God, Allah, Yahweh, and Satan:
I stopped feeling sorry for myself and took control of the situation. Over the next two weeks I lost five pounds, got on my knees and said:
For I had the strength to be great…and go to Pilates.
And I kept losing weight. And every time I passed a mirror I went:
I was finally sticking to the diet. And the results were paying off.
I was getting thinner, but I was also getting violently hangry, which is a lethal mixture of hungry and angry.
I felt like people were talking about me saying things like:
And then I realized:
Because there are more important things to worry about than being skinny, like being healthy (physically and mentally.) And I learned that in order to be healthy, sometimes you have to give in to your cravings:
As long as you do it in moderation…
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