It feels like I've been on a diet my whole life. In second grade when we learned about New Year's resolutions, mine was to go on a diet. I wanted the American Dream of looking perfect before I even had tits.
You wouldn't know it looking at me, because I am a fat girl. Five feet four inches, and an all time high weight of 248 pounds. Very nearly a quarter of a thousand pounds.
It feels like I've tried everything- personal trainers, nutrition classes, fad diets and herbal supplements, fasting, and even several very uncomfortable, unsuccessful attempts at becoming bulimic. Some of them worked- a little bit. But the most successful I've ever been at dieting had to be my second year of college- I was desperate for positive male attention. I still never got skinny, per se, or even to a desirable BMI, but I certainly got a boyfriend! Couple of 'em.
And then I got fat again. So goes my roller coaster of weight loss- always closely tied with my emotional state. Losing weight is like finding love, really. Your whole life you think you can achieve it one way. For every person who hasn't found love or their best way to lose weight, there is someone out there who has and will tell them their way is best.
"Oh, it's because you don't truly want it for yourself. "
"You have to believe it is out there."
"It won't happen until you are really ready."
My boyfriend was diagnosed with type II diabetes just months after we started dating. Since then he has lost 50 (of almost 400) pounds. I've gained 30. He is probably the only man on earth who has genuinely told his woman to lose weight because he concerned for her health. I told him it's easier for guys to lose weight. He responded with something that really stuck with me. "I lost weight because I have a gun to my head."
I want to blog about my struggle with weight loss. I feel that after some weeks of posting excuse after excuse there must be point at which I will realize how pathetic I am, get over it, and start busting my ass.