kirmy
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2014
- Messages
- 748
You’ll never stop being fat.
You heard me! I said you’ll never stop being fat!!! Yeh I know I know…what an arsehole! The truth of the matter is this. We carry our once fat selves into our skinny lives. We wait in fear of failure then accept that we were predestined to fuck this up because we have always fucked up diets and well….fat….we wait to be fat again. So we have this defeat button, and by we I mean me, that every time you gain a pound you make a subconscious mental note that this is the slippery slope of failure and you’re right back there. Oh fuck me running I’ve lost my thigh gap!
So now I’ve got you riled up and indignant here is how it is for most of us I suspect. My DS was spectacularly successful. I effortless shat myself thin until I was a little emaciated hairy monkey girl. I then rebounded to looking less like an alien and more like a vibrant healthy woman. I was wearing a UK size 8-10 which is a USA 6-8 or some silly shit like that. I got down to a small tragic size 4-6 US (for about 5 seconds) as a 5ft 8 woman and made my partner fret with fear that I would starve to death. In fairness he frets about most things so it was to be expected. I started off SMO so the transition in two years was totally drastic. I went from utterly unhealthy at one end of the spectrum to utterly unhealthy at the other end of the spectrum.
Now I’m 5.5 years out and I’ve had a regain FAILURE ALARM FAILURE ALARM….GO TO THE LIFEBOATS! I have gone from my sweet spot at 65kgs to 71kgs which is a piss weak 6kg weight gain. I could have packed this on in a month when I was SMO so really in the scheme of things it’s a bit crap. How did I react? I freaked the fuck out. How did I gain the weight? Chocolate, home baking, eating gluten laden food that I’m utterly allergic to, being a dip shit around bakeries and restaurants and generally acting like I was at the last hurrah. Now let’s go back to the fact that it is only 6kg and I am a healthy BMI with low triglycerides and an optimal cholesterol level. Does this matter? Does it dick! I’m a fat bastard according to my brain. I’m the same as being 354lbs in my weird little head. The fact that I don’t fit my size 8 demi-curve 501’s means I may as well sit at home and eat cheese lamenting the fall of civilization. I’m a failure, it’s broken, I’m done!
As I write the above paragraph I have to supress the urge to give my inner voice an uppercut. I’m not sure what fucked up image of myself I’m trying to subscribe to here but she is a total wanker. If I met her in the street I’m want to hit the woman hating little twat in the nose…but there she is…my fat voice, my failure voice…my critique that watches out for my “own good”. No it is the hater, the weight of oppression and discrimination I had always known. I’ve distilled that into an essence of who I am. That is sick.
I’m at work offshore and I’ve not eaten a toblerone a night nor three packets of crisps and a metric fuck tonne of biscuits and guess what? In under five days I’ve lost 1kg. I’ve also been taking ALL of my meds and thinking about being nice to myself. Fat voice bitch keeps popping up going “well you’ve fucked it haven’t you fatty”? To which I reply “ go boil to your head Karen Carpenter”!
I may never have an healthy approach to the normal weight fluctuations we have in life but being aware of this helps me stand back and critically evaluate where I’ve come from and to where I’m going. I want to be muscular and fit nor frail and furry like I once was. My surgery continues to do exactly what it says on the tin. I’m not broken I’m just cracked. And I’m going to love this woman despite myself and because of it. At least my boobs look nicer!
You heard me! I said you’ll never stop being fat!!! Yeh I know I know…what an arsehole! The truth of the matter is this. We carry our once fat selves into our skinny lives. We wait in fear of failure then accept that we were predestined to fuck this up because we have always fucked up diets and well….fat….we wait to be fat again. So we have this defeat button, and by we I mean me, that every time you gain a pound you make a subconscious mental note that this is the slippery slope of failure and you’re right back there. Oh fuck me running I’ve lost my thigh gap!
So now I’ve got you riled up and indignant here is how it is for most of us I suspect. My DS was spectacularly successful. I effortless shat myself thin until I was a little emaciated hairy monkey girl. I then rebounded to looking less like an alien and more like a vibrant healthy woman. I was wearing a UK size 8-10 which is a USA 6-8 or some silly shit like that. I got down to a small tragic size 4-6 US (for about 5 seconds) as a 5ft 8 woman and made my partner fret with fear that I would starve to death. In fairness he frets about most things so it was to be expected. I started off SMO so the transition in two years was totally drastic. I went from utterly unhealthy at one end of the spectrum to utterly unhealthy at the other end of the spectrum.
Now I’m 5.5 years out and I’ve had a regain FAILURE ALARM FAILURE ALARM….GO TO THE LIFEBOATS! I have gone from my sweet spot at 65kgs to 71kgs which is a piss weak 6kg weight gain. I could have packed this on in a month when I was SMO so really in the scheme of things it’s a bit crap. How did I react? I freaked the fuck out. How did I gain the weight? Chocolate, home baking, eating gluten laden food that I’m utterly allergic to, being a dip shit around bakeries and restaurants and generally acting like I was at the last hurrah. Now let’s go back to the fact that it is only 6kg and I am a healthy BMI with low triglycerides and an optimal cholesterol level. Does this matter? Does it dick! I’m a fat bastard according to my brain. I’m the same as being 354lbs in my weird little head. The fact that I don’t fit my size 8 demi-curve 501’s means I may as well sit at home and eat cheese lamenting the fall of civilization. I’m a failure, it’s broken, I’m done!
As I write the above paragraph I have to supress the urge to give my inner voice an uppercut. I’m not sure what fucked up image of myself I’m trying to subscribe to here but she is a total wanker. If I met her in the street I’m want to hit the woman hating little twat in the nose…but there she is…my fat voice, my failure voice…my critique that watches out for my “own good”. No it is the hater, the weight of oppression and discrimination I had always known. I’ve distilled that into an essence of who I am. That is sick.
I’m at work offshore and I’ve not eaten a toblerone a night nor three packets of crisps and a metric fuck tonne of biscuits and guess what? In under five days I’ve lost 1kg. I’ve also been taking ALL of my meds and thinking about being nice to myself. Fat voice bitch keeps popping up going “well you’ve fucked it haven’t you fatty”? To which I reply “ go boil to your head Karen Carpenter”!
I may never have an healthy approach to the normal weight fluctuations we have in life but being aware of this helps me stand back and critically evaluate where I’ve come from and to where I’m going. I want to be muscular and fit nor frail and furry like I once was. My surgery continues to do exactly what it says on the tin. I’m not broken I’m just cracked. And I’m going to love this woman despite myself and because of it. At least my boobs look nicer!
