It seems like I eat perfectly well until I try to, and then I sabotage myself. Maybe if we do it together? How about we hold each other accountable? Are you in!?
The funny thing is, I am such a healthy eater. The darker green something is, the more I like it. Lean protein – I don’t really like red meat. I’m not and have never been into sweets – or sugar at all for that matter. I take my espresso with a splash of milk.
So why have I battled with my weight my whole life? Much of it is mental, I know – it’s depression, anxiety, eating to fill a void. More recently, though, it’s been “Oh, you want to make a conscious effort to eat well?!” THWARTED!!
As of late, I’ve been noticing just how much advertising there is for fast food joints, especially on television. Every third commercial is for greasy, processed foods. I think it’s really tragic, and, frankly, rather annoying…
You walk into the gym and they have to scan your membership card. Inevitably, you have to interrupt a conversation to get one of the juiced up trainers to notice you.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I actually prefer they don’t notice me. It’s those blissful times when they are so busy flirting with the girl in the spandex hot pants that I slip by unseen that I am most happy.
when I go to the gym
I want to be invisible–
As a senior in high school I moved to Italy to live with a family. Before moving there, I had many preconceived notions about Italian culture and what the Italian lifestyle was like. Having always had problems with my weight fluctuating, I worried slightly over the abundance of pasta dishes and massive meals.
A handful of times, as a youngster, I had been to Italy (and around Europe) to visit my expatriate aunt and uncle during summer vacations, so I had some idea of what my time in Europe would entail. I also seemed to remember, however, that regardless of the elaborate meals, I always seemed to lose weight on these short vacations, so I wasn’t obsessing over avoiding (host) family meals like the plague. Continue reading
I would like to talk some about what it means to be an American in the eyes of people I have met around the world and how it differs drastically from the way I feel about my heritage.
First of all, let me just say that while I hate being in the USA, I don’t necessarily hate my country. I just don’t fit in here. To put it simply,
a crappy American —
I’ve never fit in. I’ve never really had friends. I’ve never been “cool.” I’ve never been like everybody else. Unfortunately, I come from a beach part of the country, and I am just not made for the beach. Even when my weight was no longer an issue for me, I just can’t stand the sun. It’s hot. It’s uncomfortable. It’s the sun. Don’t get me wrong, I am a water sign, and I love the water, but I just can’t stand beach culture. Or, for that matter, heatstroke…
Throughout my childhood, I suffered silently through feelings of self-hate, paranoia, and the fear of disappointing my family. Although I performed well in school – performed being the operative word – I was never truly happy.
My fear of doing “something wrong” stopped me from truly experiencing the life I was, at the time, blessed to live. My childhood passed me by without any meaningful friendships – or, for that matter, really any friendships at all. At an age where I should have had innocent relationships with my peers in order to understand myself and really blossom into the person I would have become, I studied hard, had manners, and always did the right thing.
But I was fat.
And this was always held above my head as the ultimate failure. My wealthy relatives on my father’s side insisted that my mother had “made me fat” out of spite to embarrass them amongst their friends in high society. My father asked, although out of concern for my health, whether I did not want to sit in a chair without taking up the whole thing. And my mother continued to feed me.