Ballooned

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It is no wonder that my weight has BALLOONED in the past couple of years. Yes, yes. . . I quit smoking & got married within a couple of months — & people say each of those on their own have a tendency to contribute to the addition of some of the poundage. . .BUT, even though I've, arguably, cut down quite a bit on the drinking, I've started baking & cooking A LOT more & I appreciate food more now.

In the moment, I am craving homemade chicken strips & mashed potatoes & gravy with a mound of sweet peas. Comfort food. It sounds good, doesn't it? But, yet, FAT. Not in the food — on my body. 😉 I'd be an anorexic if I didn't love food so damn much. . . (Nothing to joke about, I know. . . But I wouldn't say it if I didn't think it had some truth to it.) So, I procrastinate on actually preparing a home-cooked meal until I've reached the point when I am so damn hungry, I wind up ordering pizza or resorting to fast-food or something processed.

It's even more frustrating that the handsome husband is subjected to similar eating habits, yet his weight is not NEARLY as out-of-control as mine. . . He can still wear the same shirts he wore a few years ago; his pants sag so much he had to go buy a new belt fairly recently. MY old clothes, on the other hand, are in a bag in the back of the closet — not because of some disillusion that I will fit into them again, but, rather, because, I am still ashamed that I've ballooned into a SOLID size 16 to 18, depending, from the comfortable 10 to 12 I used to be.

My bra size has gone up to a very well filled-out 40G — Yes, 40G! That is not a typo! I have always been a large-chested girl, but there is something about putting on a bra (lacy or otherwise) the size of most women's tank-tops that makes you feel AS FAR from sexy as possible. The truth hurts sometimes.

I obviously haven't found my balance. (Frankly, at this point, I am not sure I ever will.) I am not ready to give up certain foods, yet I am struggling to have the energy or motivation to be more active to balance it all out.

I've even — EXTREMELY FLEETINGLY — considered taking up smoking again! Okay. I wouldn't. Seriously. No. BUT, I have to admit the appetite suppressant nature of cigarettes is one of the few things I miss about that nasty habit.

So, while I figure out the mechanics of it all, I guess I just need to learn to be happier with myself, regardless of my shape size. (I still have a shape — it's just larger than I'd prefer.)

The bitch says I need to quit my bitching (especially in a “public” forum) & do something about it. .. That it's a matter of willing it so. . . That I just need to make a decision & make it happen. . . & maybe that's true, to some extent. . . But, really, I am starting to learn that nothing is quite that cut-&-dry with me any more. It's a psychological hang-up that I have an incredibly difficult time controlling.

It is what it is. . . & it all seems easier said than done. But, whatever.