So here's the deal. It's three weeks before I turn seventeen. I've been losing weight for about fourteen months now, or trying to. After spending my life angry and bitter, I decided to get even more angry and bitter and channel it into feeling happy--kind of like that snake that eats its own ass. From a weight of 250 pounds, I started beating myself into a pulp to lose it. And pulp is pretty high in carbs, from what I hear.
So far, I've lost about 70 pounds. I'm down to 180 pounds at a height of 5'7, and after a summer that can only be termed binge-peppered, I'm stuck. It's not fun. It's not pleasant. But there it is.
Honestly, fuck all of this. Fuck the waiting and hoping and wondering every second of the day what the people around me are thinking. Fuck the fear and fuck the judgement, and fuck the hurt feelings of hurtliness. This is my life. This is who I am. And guess what? I've worked hard so far, and I'm not about to give up. Not after all this. But I am giving up on bingeing and getting angry. I am giving up on being stuck, and on being out of control. I can do this. All of it. And I will.
That's why I'm naming this blog Being Rude at the Table. Because even if no one reads it, and I doubt anyone will, I know that I need to stop hiding myself and my eating habits away and pretending that everything's great or awful when it isn't. I need to be honest about food, something Americans are allergic to. I need to pull my issues out into the open and beat the shit out of them; then I need to stop binge-eating. The two are somehow connected.
The challenge? A weight of 125 by February 10, my half-birthday.
The rules:
1) I post every night, no matter what. To report in, to mark it down. I do.
2) I weigh in every Saturday morning. And I write it down. And I will not pussy out.
3) I have to be honest and if I'm not, I have to be honest about that. Again with the cannibal snake.
So let's get down to it.
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