A Tell All About Weight

I am voracious eater when given the chance. I will eat anything and everything within my path.

Lately, I have been addicted to Facebook, looking up old friends that were skinny, but not skinny, in college and now they look better than ever. There are many of them. Six that come to mind immediately.

I, on the other hand, have not been looking so good. I remember when I would step on the scale (12 pounds ago) and almost cry because I hadn't weighed that much since my chubby days in early high school.

When I came back from Italy, I weighed the least I have ever weighed and felt so awesome that I wanted to streak through campus to show off my hot bod. That was me at 105 pounds. Since, I have gained 40 and then lost 2.5.

I run and use the elliptical and count my calories and pray each night for a little self-control. I can't knock those pounds.

And, to make everything worse, I dream of the day that the boyfriend pops the big question. In my fantasy, I look phenomenal. We take pictures in the very location where the momentous event takes place, I post them everywhere with excitement and begin to look for a fabulous dress.

I know this day isn't too far off (as in, he hints for this summer) and I desperately want to take off pounds.

It has gotten to the point where I still dream of that day and want it to happen soon, but only if I can lose weight. I want to tell him to hold off so that I can look back at the pictures and not become so disgusted with myself.

I become depressed at the very thought of how I look.

I am literally overweight by 20 pounds at the minimum based on my height/age/bone structure. I have looked it up and verified it across many websites and books. There is no denying that any doctor would tell me I have to drop those love handles and chicken wing arms. The fat between my legs rubs together as I walk and wears patches in my pants.

I used to get compliments from family telling my how great I looked and that they wished they could wear those cute, tight fitting shirts and jeans. Now, I hear nothing and the only reason my clothes are tight is because I can't fit in to them anymore.

My fat jeans have become my skinny jeans. The jeans just laying there in my drawer, gathering dust from not being used and causing an emotional crash when I see them. I have since begun to lay the jeans that I do fit into on the chair in our room to avoid spying those, once, baggy pants.

I have given away all of my cute tops to Goodwill and am down to bare minimums in baggy shirts.

I have worn holes in my spanks from overuse.

I look up low fat recipes feverishly and attempt to make them even lower in fat. My punishment for all of that cheesecake, ice cream, chips, chocolate and other incredible food is to sacrifice the taste of my breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

And yet, I cheat because I love to cook and eat. JUST LOVE TO COOK AND EAT!!!

My only solace is that when I feel depressed I cannot taste and tend to lose my appetite. It makes me feel anxious to feel sad, which usually results in a somewhat upset stomach.

My dream would be to weigh 115 pounds. Not even as low as Italy where I gorged on gelato and four course dinners every night. Where I would sometimes eat appetizers at the bar with multiple beers and then go home to make huge, authentic meals with my roommates. Where greasy pizza was a snack between breakfast and lunch.

That dream weight seems to get farther and farther away with each passing day.

I know that if I can just drop 5 little pounds, that the rest will begin to melt away as if magic. I will put myself into the motions of losing weight as though it were second nature. I could make that range of my ideal weight (as specified by all of my research) between 113-123.

Not that the road to a healthy weight is easy, because I am well aware that I am not in high school or college anymore and that a simple 4 mile run doesn't automatically make me drop two pounds as it used to.

The pictures of the wedding from last weekend want to make me throw up, literally. I feel as though people at work look at me and think, "She used to be SO skinny. She's really let herself go". And I have. I really have no one to blame but myself.

I knew that as you get older it becomes easier to gain and harder to lose. I knew that I had to limit my portions and get my butt off the couch. I knew that my days of walking to and from class were over and I would be bound to a desk the majority of the day. I knew it all, and yet I foolishly ignored it and scoffed at the very idea of ever weighing more than 125 pounds.

I am exhausted. I am overwhelmed. I am somewhat depressed. I want to join the show The Biggest Loser. I need to lose this weight.