If my memory serves me correctly, there isn’t a year my weight hasn’t been a part of “who I am”. Sad but true and statsitics and media tell me that my plight is similar to many others. Not so much an obsession to be anything but “smaller” than what I am now- as it never is small enough. The days of , “I hate my thighs” have been replaced with “I want to love my thighs” and the deprivations have turned into arguments and debates over the years to what was “allowed” and what wasn’t.
Perhaps it will magically leave my psyche one day, this obsession- or perhaps it was instilled as a natural/psych/physiological barrier at birth that was activated at 14 to keep me from becoming obese? Lots of questions for the man upstairs on all this, one day.
To be honest, to this day my weight is an unknown. My refusal to jump on the scale at the Dr.’s is well documented, and the last time I was weighed was in 2011 for a surgical procedure so they would know how much anesthesia to administer. My current mode of monitoring is a teeny tiny pair of Ann Taylor Khaki’s from a Thrift store eight years ago or a pair of size (won’t say here as you all will roll your eyes) Lucky jeans are what is used. Numbers don’t lie and neither do tight clothes.
46 years of watching my weight. I should be bone thin and mucscular. I am fluffy and aging. My Anne Taylors and Lucky’s fit.