There is something quite cathartic and pouring out my heart and soul to the internet. I wonder if I will continue to write or whether I will end up, like most things, giving up.
I give up, a lot. If things become too hard, I give up. I’m not sure why because I think I’d consider myself a pretty determined person, but anything that involves self-improvement is basically a dead end.
I’m morbidly over weight. I think that’s the PC term for very fat nowadays. This leads to all sorts of body confidence issues that are longer than my wobbly arms. However, I’m sort of okay with that. I mean I’m not okay with always being the fat kid, and one day I hope I might not be the fat kid, but it kind of gives me a reason to hide.
My weight makes me miserable, and brings out all my low self esteem thoughts, But it’s okay, because I am actually over weight. It’s not hidden. It’s not some deep rooted issue pushing away at me from the inside. I hate the way I look because I should. I’m miserable about being fat, because in am. I don’t want to look at myself in the mirror, because it’s ugly.
Unlike the other things that race around my head, I have a justification. A fact. A reason.
But as a result, I sabotage every attempt to lose weight. I broke my leg a couple of years ago and piled on the pounds. Great excuse to hide out. I can’t go out, talk to people, date, because I’m fat, and that’s not what fat people do. So if I wasn’t fat, and I didn’t do those things, I might have to start addressing some of the other stuff.
Being fat, is probably keeping me a little bit sane. Therefore, being fat is good for my health (or is that one step too far? Should I have stopped at the sane bit?).
I am off to find a biscuit. For therapy.