This isn’t easy to write, actually. It’s a bit like taking my clothes off in the High Street – embarrassing to say the least. The thing is that, having publicly announced I had set myself the goal of losing 50lbs this year, I haven’t lost a single lb. Not one measly ounce. In fact, I’ve gained weight. Lots of tiny ounces which have added up to a wobbly tummy, double chin and tight jeans.
I have just written a review for my blog of the last book I read – it’s called ‘The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake’. In the novel the main character, Rose, can taste within the food she eats, the feelings of the person who prepared it. Her mother’s home-made lemon cake tastes of sadness and unfulfilment. The concept made me think about what my family would taste if my emotions were served up with their lunch? My baking would taste of shame. Four-and-twenty black moods baked in a pie, and when the pie was opened, the girl began to cry. Losing weight and then gaining it again, the yo-yo dieting, makes me feel so awful about myself in front of others, that I want to hide away.
Eating, food, sugar, seem to me to be my addictions. If I were an alcoholic, a drug abuser or smoker, the poisons would be killing me. Put like that, I really have no choice but to conquer my demons. I have no doubt that I will succeed in losing weight and keeping it off, because I will keep trying.
But for the moment, I need to stop hating myself. After 35 years of self-loathing, I plan to give myself a break. It’s my birthday soon, my friends are coming over, my family are planning, and I’ve had my hair cut. I’m going to buy a new outfit, smile and be gorgeous. I’m well aware of my own failings, but just for a few days, I am not going to let my worth be measured by the shape of my body.