Gula #1 – Fat. Fatter. Me.

No secret, no excuses

I really haven’t been slim for many, many years. And nobody needs to lecture me about the reasons for that. I know them myself. I also don’t need weight-loss prophets, fitness gurus, or whatever else.
I just want to vent my frustration about my frequent lack of restraint when it comes to eating—something I’m 99% responsible for myself. Well. The food industry and I.

I used to be very slim. But as mentioned above, that was a long time ago, and there’s only one single photo left of it. After that photo, taken in 2010, things basically only went downhill. Uphill—every scale in the world would probably say.
I’ve often lain awake asking myself: “Why?” And as stupid as it may sound, the first answer is always: “Because it tastes good!”

I’m not going to start a debate here about ingredients and the food industry, even though they are partly responsible for why it tastes good. Or people who are just good cooks. It is what it is.
And I’m of the opinion that without all those additives—or rather substitutes—we probably couldn’t even feed 50% of humanity anymore. But I’m digressing.

Eating as an addiction

Because of my neurodivergences, I generally have a tendency toward addiction. And that includes food. I actually know both extremes very well.
When I’m doing badly, I either stuff myself with everything I can get my hands on, or I completely forget to eat because I throw myself into things and projects that distract me from my depression. That’s exactly what happened while I was building the new blog design and concept.

Body image and loss of control

Not because I feel physically uncomfortable. I actually feel “okay” as I am. And yet, deep down, it really bothers me.
Especially when people make remarks about my belly, for example.
But what bothers me even more is how little control I seem to have. Open a bar of chocolate? It has to be finished. Peanut flips? They’ll be dry tomorrow, so get rid of them now. Tasty food? Oh, a third portion is fine.
It’s like an inner black hole constantly screaming: “More. MORE.”

Sometimes I’m like Kirby seeing a feast and inhaling everything within five seconds.
In the end, the question is what I can do about it.

Small steps, no miracles

Online, I see lots of people doing sports or living vegetarian or even vegan. And even with them, I often get the impression that the effort is pointless. And no—that’s not always muscle.

I’ve already written about wanting to ride my bike more. I know that won’t solve the core problem. And it also won’t noticeably help with losing weight.
But maybe it will improve my stamina and my self-esteem. And maybe that’s exactly what will make me feel a little less bad—and at least curb the extreme eating somewhat.

Gerry