“Hey guys; I just heard from the other room that he finally ordered a ton of pizza’s, some chicken wings, sandwiches and I think a big salad for all of us. Is this some kind of big game we’re watching?”
“What kind of salad did he order?”
I just continued to stare at the ladies I was talking to about a football game that we had all gathered together to watch. I thought maybe this was supposed to be the Super Bowl I had been excited for. My level of enthusiasm began to fade as I looked around the room at these gals, their size two’s, x-small t-shirts. I wondered silently to myself, “Why do you guys care more about a salad when the whole point of us being here is to watch football and eat crap food!?” I guess this means more pizza for me.
I know I really need to concentrate on what I eat. I never do. I actually just ate the left-over pizza from this football-whatever five hours later. I ate the pizza with my tenth diet cola of the day. That’s my number one problem of my life; too much cola. I need more water. I have no problem eating the ice cubes that are left over from however many glasses of cola I had for the day, yet I cannot drink a simple glass of water. I can eat three pieces of pizza, eighteen chicken nuggets, however may pieces of chocolate are sitting in front of me, yet not drink a simple glass of water.
I remember back to the salad we had last night. I did not eat any of it. I ate four pieces of pizza, way too much cheese bread and obviously drank too much. As I did all this, though, I looked around the office at these girls that were more concerned about how much salad they were allowed to consume. They were also worried about the dressing we had ordered with the pizza. I watched them chat with each other as they picked at the leaves, one piece at time.
“So, how long were you at the gym yesterday?”
“Oh my god! I was only there for two hours! I know I should have been there longer, but I hadn’t even eaten my protein bars yet, so I knew my body couldn’t handle anymore. I had only been able to run three miles, though, so I knew I’d be fine for work.”
Barbie Two’s (I feel like they both just looked like plastic dolls, as they continued to talk about their bodies) head fell back in a loud laugh that erupted the room in my judgmental road in life. “Oh my god that is so awesome! I was only able to run two and HALF miles. You can always do so much more than me. You make me feel like I gain three pounds a day sometimes!”
When she said that, I just wanted to walk over, look her into her deep, dark blue eyes and slap her across her face. She could actually stand to gain three pounds. Both of them could stand to gain twenty pounds. It’s girls like them that make me want to barf up everything I eat everyday when they complain about their bodies. My body is my fault and I know this. I can change it. But when skinny bitches sit and complain about how they might have consumed too many carbs for the day, when there is fat ass five feet away; do they not realize how this can affect her emotions? Do they not know that it’s not always so simple for all of us? I just need my motivation. Where is my inspiration?
I know that I could work harder. I know that I could encourage myself instead of just complaining. I could just stop blaming my body on my family history, the side effects my medications could have, all that I have not been doing on this road that I feel stuck on. But I still continue this in my life. I look down at what seems like such a simple path. A fun, relaxing looking dirt road full of green trees, a lot of my favorite purple flowers in life and the butterflies that I enjoy. Then I look down the other path. It looks long, and dark. I see a lot of rain. I do miss rain sometimes, since I have moved to such a dry state, yet this path also seems to hold holes that I need to leap over, walls that I might need to climb on. There also seems to be heavy rocks that I would have to heave around in order to continue.
In order to find my inner thoughts, I need to reach for another cookie. I remember there was a time ago that I worked hard and lost some weight. I would work out the same time every day, I monitored my food intake, and I made it down to a certain weight. I believe thirty pounds had left my body. But then it stopped. No more weight seemed to want to leave me. The harder I worked, the numbers on the scale remained the same.
So, I just quit. I returned back to my old habits. I didn’t make it routine to write down my calories. Fast food became my main source of nutrients. I remained on my couch during the day, giving up on my treadmill. Which means the pounds began to add themselves on to me. I just didn’t care, though.
My aggravation is really just when I walk into the majority of stores and I can’t find anything to wear. My size never seems on any racks. Or, if it is, there is a very small section. There are many racks for the “average” size, yet for me to choose from, they all seem, something my grandma would wear. I have two certain shops I visit that have my size I can choose from. They tend to be on the expensive size, though. A t-shirt for a medium would be ten dollars, where as a t-shirt for a size twenty-two would cost me twenty-five. I understand it is more fabric and work, but it’s a t-shirt!
I try to tell myself everyday that tomorrow will be different. I ask my fairy every night to motivate me. Yet, here I remain, in my chair, with a cola and chocolate in my hand.