Menu
My blogging area
Despite making the earlier post about not having vices, doesn't mean I've never had anything. My relationship with food has been something of a weird relationship, like you have with a girlfriend that you break up with, then get back, live fast, then break up and rehash until one of you dies. Grim, man. I know. I always felt chubby when I was growing up. I had 60 kilos (9.4 stones, 132 pounds) up until I was 21 or so. You may not think that's much for somebody who's 172 cms (5'8''), but when you see yourself about as fluffy as a goose pillow, you are. So then I went to Uni, I was in my second year when I started this awesome diet known as "not eating for over 25 hours at times." It was hard to maintain, I tell ya. Almost fainting on walls at times, but I obtained the result that I wanted. I was skinny, man. Like proper skinny. Like how they make fun of anorexic girls, only I was a guy and could fit into size 26 trousers. I don't have pictures, but yeah. For video purposes, Like Bale or Fassbender... Okay, not exactly that bad. I still was 49 kilos for 2 days. Then around 50-52 for a year or so, until I settled on 55. I was already in the third year when that happened. I discovered eating in the meantime. Well, another reason for that thing was that I grabbed some depression along the way, which came from me being unable to write as my PC died, and I just couldn't write by hand. I know, funny. You can laugh if you want. And I still struggle to write by hand. To think how people have nothing to eat, and I didn't want to due to not being able to write. Oh, Adrianus Dramaticus, how alive you were. Anyway, I stayed 55 until about January 2015, when I had been in London for 5 months. This is when I started having money for the first time in my life and I bought 10 kilos of peanut butter (of which I ate 5 in one week. Pretty much eating spoonfulls, then working 12 hours a day. The life.) I reached 60 by February, and by the end of the year, full-on depression, I was on 67 or so. I moved out of London in March 2016, to Leeds, and I remember having cool winter coat that I popped a button out from being to overweight for it. I was 70 kilos. Still in depression. Having the worst body I've had in my life. I mean, all I was eating was junk food like crisps and giant portions of hummous for a month or so. Oh, yeah, and my trouser size went to 36. I think that was the signal. Or one of them. The long process of losing weight came, and by January 2017, when I weighed myself for the first time since them, I was around 66, but feeling much better. Size went down to 34. Presently, I worked on it some more, feeling my running and yoga once again, I'm currently at size 31, maybe 30, around 63 kilos probably, enjoying myself. I moved back to London in September 2017, and have only lost or kept myself steady, which is the great thing. My body has changed a lot in 8 years, due to how my depression has affected me, and if there's anything that this has thought me, is that regardless of what you see in other people talking about how they lost weight, you'll only feel like saying "Well, good for you, but that does nothing for me." There has to be a signal in you. There's a motivational video with Les Brown where he's saying "You have to feel like you're sick and tired of being sick and tired." And you do. Otherwise what's the point? You keep growing in size, and then you either go in the hospital, or you need surgery at some point and be on meds for life. Do you actually want that? I didn't want that when I saw my belly looking like it was in the 7th month. Either you change, or you change your environment.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWriting fictional stories or about real life people and situations. Archives
August 2021
Categories |
Photos used under Creative Commons from TheDyslexicBook.com, edenpictures, [email protected], jurvetson, vwcampin, elias silveira ilustrador, pom'., Jimmy Benson, EpicTop10.com, MEDIODESCOCIDO, Brett Jordan, amslerPIX, jaypen_g, rockindave1, marcoverch, mripp, marcoverch, Brett Jordan