Navel-Gazing Both Literal and Figurative
Every bad habit is a safety net. My top two bad habits are overeating and procrastinating. I procrastinate like whoa. They should canonize me as Our Lady of Perpetual Procrastination and put my image on a medal. Seriously, it's ridiculous. It stresses me out and makes my life a rushrush hell, but I keep doing it. Why? Because when I wait until the night before it's due to start a painting then I can always say that it could've been better if I had more time. It's okay if I don't like it, because it was rush job and certainly isn't my best work. If I spend days or weeks on something and still don't like it then I have to face the fact that my best isn't good enough.
Overeating is sort of the same way. Obviously food is delicious. It makes my mouth happy to eat chocolate and cookies and an extra serving of those awesome peanut noodles. But it also serves me on other levels, the ones that make it harder to break away from. There's a level of comfort eating involved, sure. It also keeps me fat. Again, why would I keep doing something if it keeps me fat? I pretty much hate myself, and a large part of that is because I'm fat. I hate my body. I have the self-esteem of an unwashed hobo at a black-tie gala. It's not a good situation. But I keep myself in it by continuing to overeat. Why?
For much the same reason that I keep procrastinating, actually. I place the better part of the blame for my unhappiness on the fact that I'm fat. I have all these little daydreams about what it would be like to lose a lot of weight. How I'd look. How I'd feel. Usually I'm happy in them. But the truth is that losing weight probably wouldn't change how I feel about myself. I'd still look in the mirror and want to crawl under a rock - it would just be a smaller rock. I'd still be socially awkward. I'd still have all the same issues, and on top of that I'd have to deal with the fact that being fat wasn't the source of my unhappiness. And I don't think I could deal with that. With losing 60 pounds and still hating myself. As long as I'm fat I have something to blame. And something to look forward to. It's nice to see a light at the end of the tunnel. And in some ways I guess I'd rather see the light and know it's there, know that someplace brighter and better is waiting for me if I just go a little farther, than reach the light and find out that it's no better than the darkness.
So I stay in this tug-o-war with food, counting calories and watching portion sizes and then eating everything in sight one day because I'm feeling particularly down. As if chocolate can soothe my wounds. As if cake really makes anything better. Then I beat myself up and go back to counting every bite, because even though I always sabotage myself I can't stop trying. Because as much I would love to be one of those awesome fat girls who owns it, who loves herself and doesn't take shit from anyone, who doesn't let her pants size dictate her state of mind... I'm not. Sometimes I think I could be. Most of the time I'm pretty sure I couldn't. I love fat girls. I wish all my friends were fat girls. I think there is absolutely nothing wrong with being fat so long as you're happy and healthy. But I'm still secretly hateful and jealous when I notice a girl I know from school losing weight. She's working her ass off and she deserves to succeed. But I liked her better when she was fat, because the new thin version just makes me feel even shittier about myself.
Anyway. I could rant forever, but I'll spare you anymore. Mostly because I don't think I'm making sense anymore. We'll resume our regularly scheduled food blogging this evening.