I tell myself this happens every month at this same "time of the month," but it never makes me feel any better. I feel fat. My stomach seems two times its regular size, and I am exhausted and cranky.
The truth is, this does happen every four weeks, and I know it, but telling myself it is normal doesn't elevate my self esteem or shrink the bloating in my belly!
There was a time when I was anorexic and I liked the continuous shrinkage of my body. I know that isn't healthy, and I am not saying I want to revert to those days, but I wouldn't mind feeling proud when I look in the mirror again.
My husband says I was never happy with my body, and though technically, this is true, there were times when I was happier with it than I am now. I don't want to be emaciated or bony, but I could do without the extra cellulite on the thighs and bum or the hip fat or the extra few inches that have magically appeared around my waist. Oh, to be 24 and 105 pounds yet again! Woe is me...
I know I am being dramatic, and I know my life is good and I've so much to be thankful for. I know my husband is happier with me now than he was when my tail bones cut deep incisions in his lap if I sat on it, but I want to be thinner...I want to be in shape...I want big, fake boobs and a Barbie waist, with tone thighs and hamstrings. I want to look like Jennifer Aniston or Jessica Alba.
But I don't. Instead, I work 8-10 hours a day, eat what I can when I can, attempt to ingest healthy foods, but crack when I see chocolate or cake. When I come home, I am exhausted and don't feel like going to the gym or working out, so the flab just keeps on getting flabbier and my morale loosens alongside the elasticity of my skin. I am what I am, and I will never be a tone, svelte, 105 pound ballerina again. Woe. Woe. Woe.
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