Life as a Pillow

For all the common sense most of us have, there is one thing that tends to see it going out of the goddamn window: our bodies.

More specifically our bodies, our fat, our self-esteem, our body-image etc etc etc. We KNOW that a healthy diet and exercise is the right thing to do but goddamn me it’s boring. And it’s not quick enough. I want to stop feeling like a sodden lumpy pillow that’s been left out in the rain and I want that now. Right now.

While I understand completely that pretty much no fad diet ever was any use to anyone in the long term and possibly damaging in the short, we all read them, don’t we? We all think “lose 10lb in one week? Don’t mind if I do” or “want to fit into that cocktail dress by Friday? Eat nothing but lemons and cayenne pepper! Sorted.”

In reality the willpower needed to manage this kind of utter bullshit is pretty hard. Probably not as hard as the old “diet and exercise” thing on a long-term basis, but hard. It’s hard until you start seeing all the weight drop off like melting ice cream and then you’re all like “I LOVE how good this hunger is making me look!” And then you faint dead away and get the kind of talking to the school nurse would give those girls in highschool.

Now Kate Moss is a fucking idiot. We all know this. I can list about a thousand things that really do taste better than skinny feels and I’d hate to be the person who couldn’t, but the temptation to just fucking see, just for a little bit, is almost too much.

I’m thoroughly fed up with myself. although I am exercising about 200% more than I ever did, nothing is changing. I’m drinking waaay less. I’m trying to give up smoking for crying out loud. I mostly have healthy things in my fridge and still I feel and look like the Pilsbury doughboy – and one who is in-between most of her stupid, hateful ugly wardrobe.

a lot of the time i simply don’t care. I’ve had to come to terms with having massive tits, being short, having ghetto booty and a small waist so anything I do wear makes me either look matronly or like a slutbag. Usually my weight stays around the same – a perfectly serviceable size 12. But I feel rank. Even though I’m doing much more of the good things. it’s probably horribly, awful ageing.

In any case, this is a long-winded way of admitting something terrible. I’m giving myself a kick-start. For the next two weeks I am going to consume nothing but fruit and raw vegetables  maybe a diet yoghurt, some fat-free dip and a handful of nuts if I think I’m going to pass out. Lots of lovely, lovely water and because I’m only human, gin.

There, I said it. It’s not even so crazy-drastic mental diet dreamed up by some crazy pseudo dietitian. No, it’s something I came up with all by myself 10 minutes before i went to the supermarket to stock up. Because I’m clearly an idiot. But I’m a desperate idiot. I just really, really want to shift some of this before I succumb to feeling even more shit about myself and burrow into the couch in the manner of someone off Hoarders and refuse to come out.

Then, after that, I promise I will look after my lovely, lovely new body. So, seven hours into the new regime (i count that since my last meal, of a cheese toasted sandwich at work) I am feeling hungry. I’ve had 1 litre of water and 1 gin and soda (I bloody told you I’m a moron) because I can’t be bothered chopping up the fruit I bought.

So there you go. I know we blame the media for a lot of things to do with body image and self esteem etc (and yes, it has a fuck of a lot to do with it, thank you) but right now seeing stupidface Rihanna writhing around wearing only a piece of string is not what ails me. It’s me. Don’t fret, I’m not going all Thinspiration on your asses (because the rational part of me would rather eat my own spew than trade tips on the best way to do it undetected) but I’m just going to give it a fricking go and be prepared for failure after 1.5 days. And I’m writing about it here because it’s my head and my blog and I don’t care what you say anyway.

Man I totally chose the wrong week to do the “step down and quit” cigarette thing, didn’t I? Fucking muppet.


About ohhellwhatthehell

I like gin, mittens and otters, not necessarily in that order. Here's some stuff I felt like writing down when I'm not chained to a desk writing other things for a living. Please use caution when using this site; there may be sweary words, cute animals and general bullshit. Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.
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One Response to Life as a Pillow

  1. An update: I lasted til Saturday night when I had a fuck-off massive bowl of delicious past and it was AMAZING. In other news I have lost what I judge to be one kilo and my skinny jeans don’t look like something you would take a photo of in Walmart. I am also still smoking like a motherfucker.Le sigh.

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