About a Fatty
Yes. Something has always been stuffed in my mouth. I was always nibbling (more like devouring) something as if the world was going to end the next day. I learned from an early age that food was an emotional comfort. When we're grieving, we eat. When we're happy, we eat. I confused nourishing your body with food and emotionally feeding your body. I was a pretty quiet child so I didn't feel like sharing my emotions, instead I ate them. Boy did it feel good.
I wasn't always fat. In the third grade I discovered I had bad asthma and was put on steroids to control it. With the steroids came a massive, and uncontrollable, appetite that I couldn't fight. While I always ate my fruits and vegetables, I also went for the junk food, the candies, the sugars.
I had a horrible time in school. Always teased. Either for being fat or for being smart. I was never cut a break. People were always jealous of my smarts, my academic success so they decided to tear me down and bring me to my lowest. Girls who I thought were my friends turned on me. I felt the lowest of the low. In junior high I became bulimic. It was the greatest kept secret. Not even the doctor knew, he thought I was simply over eating and my body was automatically purging. Little did he, or my parents, know that I was doing it on purpose. I didn't work. I kept eating, didn't loose weight. I finally sought the help from a counsellor. It felt great. I've been in remission (contrary to popular belief, it doesn't go away in an instant. You're not cured, it goes in remission).
I've always struggled with emotional eating, but now I am finally gaining the upper hand. I've finally learned to love myself. I've finally learned to be happy. All of this is going to help with losing weight. Along with the support of my friends and family, I bring to you this blog of the struggles and successes in losing weight. And some fabulosity in between.