I am fat. There are no two ways around it, and really no “nice” way to say it. I’m just fat.
I have not always been so, nor always been not so. I seem to oscillate in that “yo-yo” cycle of lose – gain – repent – repeat with some regularity, every few years.
Currently, I am in the “fat” stage of the cycle and to be honest I’m ready to get off this crazy ride. It’s not good for my overall longterm health, let alone my short term health, and I feel like I’m in this prison of a bloated body.
Yes, “prison” seems the appropriate word for it. However, it is a strange sort of prison, it is a prison where the door has been flung wide open for me to leave this cell anytime I choose, but for some reason or another (which continues to elude me) I don’t leave it.
I do hate it in this cell, however. This I do know.
It is cold and dark in here, and my thoughts seem very far away, as if someone else is thinking them and that someone is not me.
It’s like someone has dropped this fat suit on top of me, which has swallowed me whole, and I can barely move or breathe.
No, I don’t like it in here one bit.