Weight Loss Journal Part 2

This has been a very bad week. On Tuesday I was feeling pretty crappy. I am seeing visions and fantasies of how my life can change but I am scared that they will NEVER come to fruition. I have built my imaginary world to escape the realites of my real one. "Somewhere out in the back of your mind is the real life and the life that you know". When I look in the mirror, I see how the years of compulsive overeating and it makes me sick. I know my body is changing but every now and again I llok at my body in the mirror and I am repulsed by it. So I was at the point where I did not want to do any work on my transformation. I know I had to do something to escape this feeling. My first inclination was to go on a eating binge and never look back. Instead I took a walk. It was not my usual 2 mile walk it was more like 1 mile instead.

On Thursday I got read the riot act about how my classes are going. I got some really negative feedback and it shook me a little bit. I guess all of these changes are scaring me. I look forward to the future way to much these days. It makes me angry that certain people cannot handle my personality. In the ultra conservative enviornment I find myself in really sucks and I am tired of playing by other people's rules and expectations.

Today was the worst of all, I get the riot act from my roomate about paying the rent on time. She doesn't really understand that I am struggling to make ends meet just like she is. To make myself feel better, I exercised for at least an hour thinking about times to come.

I am still going to go on doing what I have been. My first instinct is to say the hell with the negative feedback and the added pressure and stress I have been feeling lately. I mentioned that the years of compulsive overeating has done to my body. I would like to share something I wrote about two years ago. It is not a cry for help it is just something I wrote when I was at a very low point in my life.


The Mirror

As I look in the mirror, what do I see? I see me, no longer a child. I now have the face and body of a woman with a sad story to tell. My beautiful brown eyes have cried for many years a well of tears from the pain. They are now hollowed from many sleepless nights not wanting the monster of the dark to come. My nose, small and pudgy, has always smelled the stench of fear, anxiety, rage, anger, self-doubt and death. My small pink lips have never kissed a first true love; they have kissed too many fancy fools.

My arms, small with just a touch of flab, have never held a lover in them or felt the soft touch of a child’s tiny hand that says, “mommy.” My legs, thin and chicken like, have always run away from pain and pleasure, love and happiness, success and responsibility and have never walked alone in a garden and never stopped to smell each flower’s sweetness. My skin, pale white and slowly wrinkling with age, is ingrained with fading pink marks that will ever remind me of my once expanding frame because I stuffed it to fill the hollowness of my soul.

My body has been slowly dying for many years. It has never felt the warmth and tenderness of a man’s touch; hiding it from them because of its ugliness and shame. I have poisoned it with drugs and alcohol, now it is prone to disease because of my destructive ways. I now often live my life on the other side of the mirror, immersed in fantasy and fiction because my reality every day is made forever clearer.