I have this wormy little thing in the back of my head that says I need to justify my ‘fat ex-smoker’ post. Truth be told, a lot of it has to do with fear and that has everything to do with my writing.
I’ve spent a lot of time in my own little bubble. I’ve always been the overly sensitive person who secretly assumed that people out of earshot talking were talking about me. Except of course when people were actually talking about me. Then I’m absolutely oblivious, walking around in my own little bubble while people kindly clue me in after the fact. Posts like the last one are hard for me. Not only because they force me to examine myself in ways I’m not terribly comfortable, but also because I’m taking those things that bother me and sharing them out. I’m giving away the ammunition to fuel those hushed conversations that absolutely must be about me.
Like over eating, and smoking before it, it’s shitty behaviour. It’s a shitty way to live in your own head, full of that much fear. Of being rejected. Of being made fun of. Of fucking failing.
“I’ve tried quitting smoking before. The most I’ve gotten is X number of days and then I’m right back. I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to quit.”
“I don’t think I’m an exercise person.”
“I can’t stick to a diet.” Keeping in mind here by diet I mean don’t eat out three meals a day and wash it down with two litres of pop and a couple chocolate bars.
I don’t particularly like feeling like I’ve failed. I don’t think that’s a unique feeling either. What I’m starting to feel an absolutely disgusting sense of distaste for is the feeling that I didn’t bother trying. The process to fix the problem is simply to purge it.