Friday, June 26, 2009

A very real personal battle...

I am and have always been a VERY emotional person. I'm the girl who cries over sappy made-for-t.v. movies, sappy hallmark commercials, sad songs. You name it, if it tugs at the heart strings, I WILL need the box of tissues.

In addition to that, I am an emotional eater. My struggle with my weight is not a secret. You can't really hide something like that. Um...people notice things like that. It was tough growing up because I came from a clean-your-plate family. As we all know, there are starving children in ________ that would eat that food. (Note to all children: If your parents make the mistake of saying that to you, never EVER make the worse mistake of telling them they can box up the stuff on your plate and send it there. Just a word to the wise.) On the nights that we would have what I considered the worse possible dinner ever (lima bean, hot dog casserole--you just try and beat that!), we would have dessert. Good dessert--homemade apple dumplings for example. So unfair.

I do not and would not ever blame my parents for my weight problem. I think in some ways it is very much like an addiction. Like alcohol or cigarettes. When I am happy, I want to eat. When I am sad, I want to eat. When I am lonely, I want to eat. When I am angry, get the picture.

The problem with being both an emotional person AND an emotional eater is that you are SCREWED no matter what. I have to be so, so careful to not eat because I am happy, sad, lonely, angry, or any of the other bazillions of the emotions that people feel. I literally sit and talk to myself mentally convincing myself that I really don't want the food that is in the cabinet. It is all well and good to tell me not to buy it and keep it in the house. Usually, I don't. There are no boxes of Cheez-Its in my house nor are there any cartons of ice cream. I have no willpower when it comes to those items. There is no such thing as portion control where those items are concerned.

Sometimes, though, I can't talk myself out of it. I am too lonely or too sad and I just think to heck with it. Then it's like a monster is unleashed. I can eat and eat and eat. Afterwards I hate myself and have even, on occasion, eaten so much that I made myself sick and then I hate myself all the more.

I hate that people who are overweight--yes, fat--are judged the way they are. No one ridicules an alcoholic. No one ridicules a cigarette smoker. Fat people, though are routinely made fun of. I can remember, growing up, people asking me "where's the pork?" I was so aware of what I ate in public that I ended up sneaking food in private and feeling guilty about it. I was embarassed to try clothes on. High school and college where a nightmare because it is all about popularity. That made me sad and lonely and, yep....I ate more.

I have no one to blame but me. I made myself that way I was and only I could change that. I have been working on it but, even though I know I look good now I still wonder how long it will be before I don't see the fat girl in the mirror any more.

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