Feast or Famine

So about now I feel as though, topped with a little chocolate sauce and some whipped cream, I could eat my own shoe. I'm hungry, folks. H. U. N. G. R. Y. I vowed just one month ago to never diet again, to never talk about diets, to relegate diets to the dark, dank dungeons of my brain never to speak of them again. And here I sit with my hunger and my meal plan and my disgusting, fucking pride, on a damn diet.

So here's the part where I try to justify what I'm doing. I want to say, "It's for health reasons. A little extra weight just isn't healthy, people." I want to say, "I just want to feel comfortable in my own skin." But the truth is I will never feel comfortable in my own skin. Not now when I weigh 125 pounds. Not at 100 pounds. Not at 85 pounds. Never. Because no matter what, the weight of my physical body, the weight of my brain, will always overwhelm me. And what I see when I look at myself in the mirror will never be the truth of what I am.

A diet is dangerous to me. Not fatally dangerous. I'm not suicidal. I'm not that much of a moron anymore. But I get addicted to diets the way that some people get addicted to alcohol, or shopping, or crack cocaine. And despite my obligatory complaints about hunger, I actually derive pleasure from that sensation. I could dine on that delicious emptiness for the whole of my life. There is nothing so tasty as the emotional numbness that comes with restriction. Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating it. I'm just saying that some of us have brains that function in such a way that starvation actually feels like bliss. It sets the world aright. And if you are sitting there thinking, "What the fuck is she talking about?", then congratulations. You are mentally healthy. I would give up orgasms to be mentally healthy. Well maybe not orgasms. But something really, really good. Unfortunately, I don't think there are that many normal people left in the world. I'm hard pressed to find a single person who isn't as concerned about their weight as I am.

The biggest problem with starvation is that physiologically it's unsustainable. The work of Ancel Keys is particularly fascinating to me. What this scientific experiment demonstrated is that most people will respond to periods of starvation with food and weight obsessions and ultimately, binging. Is it any wonder that in a society where everyone is on a diet, we paradoxically have a so-called obesity epidemic? Everywhere I turn - on the news, in magazines, in conversations - there is somebody to tell me that I'm not okay. That what I'm doing to myself is acceptable, even commendable. I came home the other day to find an advertisement for a local gym stuck in my door. You know what it said? "Do you feel fat? Who doesn't?" And even in my diseased mind I can recognize that as twisted beyond belief.

I guess in my own way, I'm trying to fit in. It's the age-old, "well everyone else is doing it!" Deep down, I know it's stupid. I know it's ridiculous. I hate myself for buying into the idea that hating myself is the way to go. But I do it anyway.

I take big risks when I write so honestly about my thoughts. I am not anonymous. I can only hope the people in my life will respect my truthfulness and not over-scrutinize me or worry about me. I am as well as I ever will be. I do the best I can. Each day I arise to a new day and tackle the challenges therein. Full weight.