Nom Nom Nom

I'm feeling a little revealing today, so I'm going to talk about something I'm really insecure about. Don't get too excited, it's nothing special. I wish it was something unique and eccentric, like worrying that the back of my head is lopsided or that my knees smell weird.

No my friends, this is a boring insecurity that, when combined with my deliberate ignorance of sport and car knowledge, makes me feel like the lamest of female stereotypes. Unnecessary drum roll please.

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I'm an emotional eater who's not always comfortable with my weight.

I know about good nutrition. I know about portion control. I know what eating mindfully is. I know what it's like to be comfortably full and satisfied. When I'm feeling fine, I generally try to apply this knowledge to my eating habits.

It's when I slump down into my more depressive states that I throw all this information out the window and purposefully gorge on the worst kinds of foods. When I'm feeling trapped in my own anxiety or sadness, I immediately look to food to give me a serotonin-packed mental vacation. There, in this land of refined carbohydrates, hydrogenated oils and whatever the hell polydimethylsiloxane is, I have no problems. It's just me, at four in the morning, watching videos on the weird part of Youtube while my pancreas furiously pumps insulin into my bloodstream.

Shortly thereafter I feel severely ill and resolve to stop eating for the next sixty years - which never seems to work out.

When I get this way, I will think about food constantly. I will plan out what I want to get at the grocery store, where I can hide the food in my room, and then when I will be alone and able to eat the food. It's a very sneaky process that I'm sure isn't fooling anyone.

My self-esteem and willingness to be seen in public will fluctuate with my waistline. I'm constantly gaining and losing ten to twenty percent of my body weight on a monthly basis. It's not uncommon for me to go into hiding for quite a while because I can't fit into my fat pants.

When you can't fit into your fat pants, what are you supposed to wear in order to go out and buy new fat pants? WHAT I ASK YOU??

Obviously, this is a cyclical process that sends you down the ol' downward spiral. If you've ever dealt with a negative coping mechanism, then you don't need me to explain.

But let me explain anyway just so I can curse some more:

Now, some of you might be thinking, "Sachi, you are not obese. You seem to have magical Liz Lemon binge eating powers, so I don't really care about your nonexistent problems."

I understand. There are many people whose struggles with weight and food are exponentially more difficult than my own. I have never been diagnosed with an eating disorder and the biggest I've ever gotten is letting my weight slightly creep into the BMI range that is considered overweight. But that doesn't change the fact that when I force feed myself crappy food, my bloated face, bad skin, heart palpitations and night sweats are probably a sign that my body hates what I'm doing to it. It also doesn't change how ashamed I can feel and that I often hate food beyond reason.

I hope to be at a point in my life where I take care of myself consistently. I'm a lot closer to that point than I've been in the past, but boy do I sometimes feel like I'm in an infinite loop of poor behavior patterns.

Whatever, I'll figure it out.

I will goddamnit.

Comments

[bmorn]

LOL, ha~~