- Skin by Adrienne Maria Vrettos
I had my induction thing at the gym, apparantly I weigh 13st 7lbs and have a BMI of over 33. How the Hell did I let that happen!? That is literally double the weight I was at my thinnest (okay, sickest). I feel like I've completely let myself down and become gross and disgusting, and a part of me thinks fuck it, you deserve to be fat and miserable because maybe you couldn't help being miserable but getting fat is.all.your.own.fault. For the first time in a really, really long time I cried in front of the mirror.
I need to make some changes. I can't keep going at this rate. Being obese is much worse for you than being underweight, right? And I'm not happy. Okay, I know I'm generelly sad and depressed at the minute, but I'm not happy being this weight, this size, the depression has made me comfort eat and become comfortable not liking the way I look, being apathetic towards my body. That is not me and I am completely kidding myself and everyone else if I pretend to be okay with being obese.
I have a six month membership and they give you your own fitness programme to follow and check you weight and body fat and everything every month, and I'm giving up eating crap that's no good for you and addictive, like sugar, and stop snacking, and obviously stop eating to try and make myself feel better, because that is clearly not working, throw out the scales, through out all the disordered thoughts that I don't need anymore, let other people in that are going to call me on ... And hopefully I will end up somewhere in the middle of such stupid extremes.
I don't want to weigh in at under 7st again, no way! I am so completely not anorexic anymore. Sure, I sometimes miss it as if I've lost a vital organ, I sometimes feel like nothing will ever fill the big, black hole that it's left. I sometimes crave the simplicity that it gave me. The sense of power and purpose. I didn't give a fuck about anything back then. Only losing weight and not eating. I never had a BMI of less than 15, I never had a tube shoved up my nose... I used to believe that those kinds of things mattered. That I obviously wasn't a real anorexic. That I was too fat. Now I believe the evidence to the contrary. That those things don't mean anything at all and that wanting them and fantasising about them is fucking ridiculous. That I most definately was ill, anorexic.. I was completely fucking insane. Thinking that I was more powerful than anyone else in the entire universe because I didn't eat for 28 days. For a long time that was my proudest moment. My biggest achievement ever. And now in the cold light of day it looks completely fucking pathetic. I look completely fucking pathetic.
Guess what. I did all those things to myself. I had power. I had control. I had a choice. It was all willpower. I have the power to turn things around and lose the weight again, in a healthy way. I don't even want to be 'thin'. I want to weight 9st 7lbs/10st. The weight that I was before I got seriously sick. I've said many times before that I would go about things in the right way, lose the weight in the right way, but I didn't really mean it. The thought of being thinner and thinner and thinner was always driving it, somewhere...
I don't want to be fat anymore, I don't want to skinny anymore, I just want to be healthy and happy and proud of my body. Okay, I will probably never, ever be proud of it, but I'm sure that we could learn to not try and destroy each other.
After the six months are up, it'll be around the same time that I first danced with an eating disorder, ten fucking years ago. I am only 23 years old. That's not right. If I'm fit and healthy by that time it will be my final fuck you and goodbye. This stops here. I have control. Power. Strength. I don't have to walk around in a fat suit because I'm too uncomfortable in my own skin. I don't need to faint around like a ghost because I'm too uncomfortable in my own skin. No more extremes. No more using food to regulate my emotions. Has it ever really worked? I don't think so. And if I can sit here in six months time, healthier, fitter, with a normal attitude towards food, with a healthy attitude towards exercise, then I will genuinely have tears in my eyes. I will have done something to be truly proud of.
I am so fucking scared though... Scared of the comfort and safety that being this heavy makes me feel. I am disgusting so no-one will want to touch me. I'm completely safe because the outside of me is so, so much bigger than the inside. Safe. Fat. I'm scared that I don't have the willpower to change. I'm scared that I iwll be obese for the rest of my life. I am scared of how close to the edge it's going to push me. I want to change, but I want to be healthy, and I want to feel...... Safe.