Today I am swollen. Corpulent. Pudgy. Jiggly. Fat. Embarrassed to be seen in public. I am ashamed of my body and myself for letting me get to this place of wanton abandon.
I've completely lost control.
Actually, really, I'm most likely in the same place as I've been for years, give or take a couple of pounds. But staring down surgery, knowing a week from today, literally right now, I could be unconscious on an operating table, is bringing up stuff.
Old stuff. Destructive stuff. Stuff filled with negativity and self-hate and self-doubt. It's both amazing and tragic that I can be so disgusted with myself. Especially when approaching an act of nothing but good.
Why? Why am I beating myself up?
Because I'm scared. And it's easier to go dark than to face what I'm afraid of.
I don't want to even write out the shadows that are pushing in at the edges of my imagination. Naming them might just make it all worse.
But, they're there.
I'm holding on to positive as if it's a lifeline but the skeptic in me is fighting to take over.
And so, fat is winning right now.
The good news is that I'm not starving myself. I'm not exercising to exhaustion. I'm not living on diet soda and apples and tasti d'lite.
I'm having trouble not beating myself up though.
I hate this place.