Food for thought.

Oh, hello. Did you miss me? No? Fuck you.

Today, I have decided to tackle the issue that has tormented me most of my life.

My weight.

I don't think I've ever really been comfortable in my own skin. I still distinctly remember the first time I realised I was fatter than everyone else. It was year 3 and we were doing something in science about body weight and a few of us were asked to come up and be weighed. I was the heaviest, by a long way. Since then I have been painfully conscious of my size.

At my heaviest I was about 14 stone (roughly 200 lbs). At the time, all I could think was that if only I was thin everything would be perfect. People would like me, someone would love me and I'd be happy. I was completely wrong.

After I moved to London I lost about 4 Stone. I always told myself that if I got to a size 12 I'd be happy and all my problems would be solved. WRONG. Even when I was a size 10 I was miserable and lonely.

Recently I put on about 7lbs, and it's making me really really fucking miserable. I'm so angry at myself for allowing it to happen. Even though being thin didn't make me happy, I still feel the need to maintain it.

"I thought being thin was the answer. It wasn't, and now I'm trapped."