Seven days, and two meals consumed. And counting... the days.
This is a confession. And this is an awakening. I hope.
When I was a teen, around 17 years old, I wanted to look good for someone. I had read a lot about people who ate and puked it out, then they wouldn't put on weight. I tried that twice. I gave it up after that. I think. I don't remember trying it more than twice.
As a kid I was skinny (that's what all over-weight people say I think). Around the beginning of my teens, I started putting on weight. No particular reason. I was FAT when I passed out of school, chubby when I was in junior college. I started gymming seriously then. I had already enrolled in Talwalkar's after school. I needed to lose the extra 15 kgs on me. Everyone said I was fat. My neighbor, pesky as she is, once told me, "I saw you from my balcony when you were coming yesterday and you looked like a full circle."
The gym helped me lose slowly. I had lost around 4 kgs in a year and a half. In 12th, I fasted for 8 days, no food, only water. I lost 8 kgs. I was at my perfect weight. I looked good, really good. A model bloke was interested in me. It did not do wonders for my self-confidence but it was assurance that I was not fat anymore.
Under grad at Nationals. I had to regain that weight sometime. I slowly put on weight, a few kgs not much. I was still not too bad. Summer came, and my Mom is the world's best cook. Really. I went through a horrible time. Depression, lies, deceit, and the wrong guy. I put on weight. I had a best friend, Mr. Pilot, who thought I did not eat enough. I put on weight. All over again, I was 5 to 6 kgs over weight. I gymmed some more. Like crazy. I lost some more.
I was riding on a pendulum. I put on weight, lost some more. Put on some more, lost a little. My confidence was not that bad. I started drawing a line between self confidence, body image, and weight issues. But I had an eraser in my hand all the while.
One comment about not looking good, looking fat, and I was tempted to, and did many a times, erase that line.
One day, someone I did not know too well said, "Are you dieting? Please don't believe in that rubbish, you are fine the way you are." That took me a little by surprise. I was not dieting, but I was avoiding food which had excess calories.
All through BMM I used to avoid food I did not need. I used to urge Pri to lose a little bit of weight because I knew she would look beautiful if she did. When I was not overweight, I would love my state of having no tyres or love handles.
Grad School in Illinois. First few months alone. Wrong kind of food. Soda. It's not a good combination. I was putting on weight. I realized, and I stopped the wrong kind of food. I went to visit my aunt in Chicago. Home food, and the Gujarati custom of "Agr", its when the person who has cooked almost pleads you to eat. And eat. And eat.
I put on unimaginable amount of weight. All of a sudden I was back to square one. 15 kgs over weight. I was not too bothered about it. I thought I could push the weight off. I had enough encouragement from Mom, Bro, Pal and Pri to get started with it.
Once I came back on campus, I could control my weight and diet. The day I came back on campus, I was too exhausted to eat anything. The next day, there was so much to do! The day after that, I was just not in the mod. Th day after, I was good on coffee. 5 days, and no solid meal. I finally felt hungry enough to eat a meal, but I was outside. Shopping.
Subway sandwich. Lite Mayo, no-fat sweet onion. Half a sandwich actually. As soon as I finished the meal, my system started on a weird drive. I was feeling guilty. I felt guilty all night, and all day. Did not eat anything the next day. A cup of milk, no fat. The next day, dinner at Pals. Ate a little. Felt full. I swear I thought about taking a second helping. But my brain would not let me do it. And today. Coffee in the morning, and a cup of No fat yogurt.
I know what I am doing is wrong. I know that my body needs the food. I know that I am hungry. I know that I am not cooking because I am hungry, since I can't cook on an empty stomach. I keep convincing myself to eat a little bit. A little morsel, if nothing else. Just a little bit. But, it's not working.
I did not write this blog to declare a food disorder. I did not write it to receive shitty comments. I wrote because that seems to be my last solution. The last way to convince myself to acknowledge a problem. To face it. Writing has always been therapeutic for me. I am hoping it will work this time too. It took me a lot of guts to write this. To be able to admit it here. To push that button "Publish Post" which is a bright orange below my blog's body window. And I hope you guys acknowledge that.