Terrible fucking un-HINGEd date last night. Will recount in full detail when I regain the strength, but let me tell you, it was awful. Maybe the worst. Like, wriggle-level bad. I'm currently listening to Keane in my bedroom and feeling... well. I was going to say like a teenager, but I feel like an adult, which is somehow a lot worse. Trying and failing to complete this writing deadline on time. Did I mention I'm a writer?
I caved (in a good way) and re-booted my keto ways on Wednesday. This is officially two days down, which means it's sticking, and so far I've resisted Kara's takeouts (twice), eating at night (twice) even after said awfully depressing date, and I have to tell you, I feel better. Like, already. I used to write about every microscopic detail of my life, diet and body, and I guess I had a lot more manic energy back then that as an almost thirty-year-old seems to have transferred to unspoken, wordless anxiety. Which is another great case for keeping this blog. It should be a refuge, somewhere to vent, but also somewhere to voice those voiceless 1am concerns that ordinarily result in a midnight binge attack. In three days, I've gone from 90 kilos (198.4 lbs), to 87.8 kilos (193.5 lbs). This is the result of nothing other than vetoing all traces of gluten, fructose, refined sugar and carbohydrates from my diet in an exceedingly aggressive manner. It just reaffirms my suspicions that the majority of my weight gain is inflammation, and its root causes almost certainly lie somewhere on the autoimmune spectrum.
Ten days til Italy. I have no money but at least I'm losing weight. What did I say my goal was? 84 by then? I don't know. If I keep this up at this rate I'll be hitting it.
I also think I'm attached to my overweight-ness on some level, only because the minute it starts dropping off, I notice that I begin to feel anxious and afraid. Like my armour is going, my protective padding falling away to reveal what's underneath. Which is fear. Raw, real vulnerability, not this bullshit vulnerability-is-my-superpower persona I've slowly grown into and comfortably inhabited since my abortions five years ago. That was when this all really started, in earnest. Sure, I was fat periodically in my early twenties, I was a university student. I'd been raped, I retreated into the safety of a cosy domestic lesbian relationship, I got comfortable. But I'd never hit 200 pounds before this last year. The better I seem to be doing in my life, the fatter I have grown. But I don't want to equate thinness with illness, addiction, internal chaos or toxic depression anymore. I want to break that cycle. I want to be doing well, and ALSO be at a healthy weight.
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