Self Obsession – My Fat is Entering Adolescence

So for a long time this was a draft about Dieting, Self Neglect and Eating well, and the fine lines between all of those. However, I’ve made peace with my eating habits. I may well be going for a pub lunch today and might have cheesy chips, or even Faggots and Chips. I had yummy cherry tomatos and a protein shake for breakfast, I have chocolate if I want it. I’ll be having cake next week. The Fatosphere has truly made me feel more comfortable and relaxed about my eating habits, although I still over analysing everything. You know that period in adolescence where you talk with your other outcast friend about EVERYTHING and analyse EVERYTHING and talked like a 20 something off Dawson’s Creek?

I’m doing that about my body/image/self right now. The eating stuff? I’ve gotten rid of the guilt, or at least I am on the path to having chocolate without feeling OMGEVILRUINEDMYSELF. But I still think about it a lot. My lovely fella says I talk in my sleep, and it used to be about food. Now? I talk about swimming and talk to somebody called John. I’m not sure who this John is, I don’t have many significant people called John in my life. Never have. Unfortunately I don’t talk some of the barmy nonesense that can be amusing to recount later.

Where was I?

Oh yes – over analysing myself. I feel proud of myself for eating how I want, and I notice my moods and bodily feelings. My body is getting pampered with proper vitamin supplements, a great variety of foods. It’s also getting worked harder these days. Scared by the warnings of the Fatosphere, I’m determined not to overexercise, but to make certain activities a habit – so I don’t notice them more than I need to. Unfortunately everyone at work keeps asking me about it, and it’s hard to brush off their interest when they are just being polite, so I think I’m turning into a gym bore. I’m trying to look into dance lessons or something so it can be more about the fun I’m having there than the exercise.

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~ by Pewter on July 11, 2008.

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