Aug 052003
 

Hi. If you are tired of hearing me talk about my weight, I politely invite you to ignore this post, as it will make your eyes roll very far back into your head.

I gained 10 pounds in two weeks.

10 pounds.

You see, my friends, THIS is why I obsess about my weight. It is not because I want to be on the cover of some glossy magazine looking like Joe Studboy. It’s not because I think I’m some disgusting slob of a human being. It’s because, when I don’t obsess about my weight, I become and obsessive eater. Over the course of the last two weeks, I ate almost anything that was put in front of me and then I sought out extra food on top of it. A perfect example was on my way home. I was tired, and I rationalized that some doughnuts would be wonderful to perk me up. So I stopped at a Flying J to get some. Now Blueberry cake doughnuts are my absolutely favoritest doughnuts in the whole world, and that is what I wanted. They didn’t have any, so I got two crullers.

That, however, did not sate my doughnut desire.

So the next time I saw a 7-11 I stopped and got two blueberry cake doughnuts.

Four doughnuts in less than an hour.

And that was just one hour out of the last fourteen days.

I have an eating disorder. I am not worried about my weight as a vanity issue (although I will not deny my joy in finding that I am somewhat appealing to the eye when there is less of me to be seen). I am worried because, when unchecked, my weight got up to 420 pounds. I am worried because I have had two strokes. I am worried because, if I don’t watch my weight, it will fucking kill me.

I invite you, for a moment, to step into my shoes when I was at my maximum weight. Imagine, if you will, not being able to tie your shoes without getting red in the face and out of breath. Imagine the embarassment as you repeat the monthly routine of ripping the crotch out of your pants at work because your thighs rub together so much. Imagine the look you see on people’s faces as they see you are going to sit next to them on an airplane. Imagine hearing the laughter as people pass you by and think you can’t hear them anymore. Imagine the looks that you get as you are ordering your dinner. Imagine the humiliation of knowing that someone you were interested in turned you away because you were too huge to even consider being with. Imagine having sex with someone and having them push you off of them because they can’t breathe. Imagine not being able to buy clothes anywhere that don’t cost 4X as much as the clothing that “normal” people can wear.

Imagine having lost 170 pounds and still not being able to see anything in the mirror except for a fat person.

So, yeah. I talk about my weight a lot. I freak out if a gain a few pounds. I’m so very fucking sorry if that is a bother to those of you that are in my life. You know what, though? It’s part of me. My weight, regardless of whether or not I lose every pound I want to, will always be an issue. I think I’ve made a huge step in losing what I have, and have done wonders for my self esteem. If you don’t think so, that’s youre perogative, but I don’t want to hear about it. This is MY journal, and since my weight is a huge part of my life it’s going to show up here. If you don’t want to read about it, nobody is forcing you to.

Egads. I just totally dissed one of my co-workers and I didn’t even mean to. The worst part is that I did it across the room. I asked her if she had done something with her hair, and she said she curled it. I didn’t like it, and I told her so.

Oops.

Way to not be thinking, Mike.

There is nothing I hate more in the world than feeling like I can do nothing to help the people I love.

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