This post was inspired by a post over at my new friend Michelles blog, My Managed Chaoswho wrote a post about dieting.
It’s always been a struggle. My own personal cross to bear. We all have them, I know.
I’m a thin person, stuck in a fat persons body. Sometimes.
I’m a fat person, stuck in a thin persons body. Sometimes.
Up for three years.
Down for two years.
Up for one year.
Down for 6 months.
Yo. Yo. Yo. Yo.
Never able to just be. Never a happy medium.
I have no will-power.
Food. It’s not my friend. It’s a bitter enemy. Because I can’t enjoy it. I have internal, passionate struggles with every morsel of food that I put in my mouth. I shouldn’t. I should. Oh, what the hell, you’ve already eaten almost the whole thing. You might as well finish it off, pigface.
I beg to myself, in my head, to stop shoving those cheese-its into my mouth. My head talking. My hands and mouth…ignoring.
Some days, my stomach screaming to be fed. And the rest of me, ignoring it’s grumbles and growls. Only to break down and shovel. Like a closet eater. Only, in the open. Sitting with a box of cereal at the kitchen table. Proudly? Not so much.
Yes, I know. I should exercise. And I do. Sometimes.
Then I don’t. For a long time.
Then I do. Obsessively.
Like a tennis match. Back and forth.
I wrote a post called Getting My Sexy Back, back in May.
Both the weight and sexy, consistently inconsistent. The bane of my existence.
I want to own myself. Whichever part of the yo-yo I’m at.
It’s not even about self confidence anymore.
Because, I’m confident.
It’s not even about being sexy.
Because at this point, sexy doesn’t matter.
I want to find that balance between the up and down of the yo-yo.
That happy medium.
To be able to eat without regret. And doubt. And worry.
To find that nirvana with food.
Where it’s not a diet.
Or a way of life.
And then, I’ll worry about getting my sexy back.