I am fat, but soon I won't be

I weigh over 100 kilos. That's over 200 pounds. This year started well. By the Christmas 2008 I went over 100 kilos, got really scared and disgusted with me, started the new year with Atkins, lost 10 kilos, was pleased with me, and then in February I spoiled it all. Came my sister's 50th birthday, came Imbolc, Mardi Gras, and I didn't want to deny me all the goodies... so I didn't. Now, half a year later, I weigh about 105 kilos. I hate myself, I hate my weight, I hate my fat. My husband tries to tell me that he loves my body, just the way it is, but it's not helping much, because I get a slightly bad conscience for hating it so much, wanting to destroy something he likes... I know he will like me 40 kilos lighter too, because it's me he loves, but... I hate being fat.

So, Atkins it is from today on, until I have reached the goal weight. It's not too harsh, I don't plan on going from 105 to 55. I haven't weighed 55 kilos since I was... 13 or something. I don't even plan to get to the "ideal weight" of a woman of my height, 59 kilos. I weighed over 60 kilos already when I was a teenager, and haven't gone back. Was I fat then? No way! I was athletic. Almost pure muscle. But I also have very wide shoulders and breast and back, which makes me look much heavier than I am.

Now I'm going to jump over the long and sad story of my childhood - what is needed to know in this blog is that I was very lonely child, living in the middle of nowhere with no reasonable possibility to join the social gatherings, we were poor and I was bullied since I was 10. I turned to food and candy to try to heal my wounded soul. I used to make myself a batch of fudge when I came home from school - there wasn't anyone home, usually, take the pan and a book and disappear. Candy loved you, tasted good, who ever you were. It still does.
Why would I leave my best friend, my only friend, simply because it makes me fat?

So what I need to do is to realize that candy is not my friend. It's like a neighborhood dealer. It gives me a high and I pay with my health, physical, mental and social.

The problem is that I can't see anything I could replace it with. I don't trust people, thanks to the 30 years of abuse I have received from them. People are fickle, self-centered, forgetful and untrustworthy... It's not that they could do anything about it. I'm the same way. I think of only what I see everyday, it's out of sight, out of mind. I have my own problems and life closest my heart, and don't see others' problems and situations, why would they see mine? I fully understand WHY people are fickle, self-centered, forgetful and untrustworthy, but the fact remains that that is what they are. Every social meeting, whether it's two people meeting each other at the street, or a 80000 people at a concert, is a soup of situations and problems and troubles and worries and hopes and thoughts and feelings and moods and chemistry...
You can trust in simple chemistry of cooking and baking and candy-making. You can trust the can of ice cream. You can trust the bag of candy. You can trust your daily bread and pasta, butter and cream.

Frankly, I just want to be with my candy and my books. It's safe. It's nice. It's rewarding. It's comfortable.

How would I learn to choose adventures over safe? I love adventures, I would love to be an action heroine, a person who goes to places no-one else has ever been, a person doing extreme things, climbing Mount Everest, diving, bungyjumping, skydiving, going to Moon, walking around the world... with my physical condition that's not going to happen. I doubt I have the mental strength needed either. I rather watch Lara Croft and Modesty Blaise and dream of it.

What would be the alternative to comfort? I have such a need for comfort... a huge, big hole inside of me, yearning for comfort... a soft cocoon to protect me... I would much rather sit by a fireplace in a big, comfy chair and footstool, dressed in flanell nightgown, thick robe, slippers or thick, knitted socks (not itchy kind), with a good book, a cup of hot chocolate and a dog than go clubbing dressed in something very nice and high heels, being beautiful, slim and wild. The mere idea of going clubbing freezes me... So cold. So exposed. So vulnerable, naked, open... asking to be hurt. No. I want my chair, blankie and hot chocolate. And my teddybear.

I don't dare to eat. Food is keeping me from being thin... but why would I want to be thin?

I want to eat carbs. I want to eat pasta with thick, fat sauce, spicy and salty, and a nice, white bread with a lots of butter on. I want danish pastries and butter croissants and cinnamon buns. Washed down with cold milk or hot, strong tea with milk.
But that's what got me into this "fat suit" in the first place...

The truth is that food doesn't taste as good anymore.