Friday, March 7, 2014

The Story of A Fat Girl (Episode 3)

It's no good. You still look like a fatface.

Jules cringed yet again at the reflection she'd grown to hate. Every single day she was reminded of how much weight she'd gained when she checked herself before leaving her room.

But she was kind of sadomasochistic in that way. So she traced every inch of her reflection's outline with her eyes, noting with heartwrenching dismay the ever-growing paunch. The stopping of dance classes clearly has not agreed with her.

But worst of all was her face, in all its round glory. In the past, though she had never been skinny, you'd never be able to tell from a mere face shot, and she used to be proud of her oval-shaped face and defined cheekbones and jawline. Now, she had the puffiest face in the world and horror of horrors, a freaking double chin.

She hadn't taken a selfie in ages, which is a big deal because she always used to be a huge vainpot. But she just couldn't deal with looking at the person she had allowed herself to become. It was just too much to let everyone back home see how badly she was getting along.

The weight gain signified how unable she was to take care of herself. She remembered announcing that since she would be preparing her own food in England, as well as joining a gym, that she would come back a much skinnier person; or at the very least, she wouldn't have put on any extra weight.

Obviously she had spoken too soon. That giant creature in the mirror taunted her with her words every day.

It got to the point where she hated herself every time she ate something, be it stir-fried or boiled. She hated that she had to feed herself, because every spoonful meant yet another calorie intake which she'd then have to sweat out at the gym.

And that was the part she could not understand.

She ate healthily. Her only meats were turkey steak, chicken thigh, and salmon. She ate loads of veggies: kale, spinach, bakchoy, carrots, sprouts - but never iceberg lettuce; and of course loads of fruit. Cooking methods were only ever stir-fry, oven-roasted, or boiled, because she didn't know any other way. She didn't eat rice, though noodles and (wholemeal, seeded) bread were consumed a few times a week. She alternated her morning cereal between muesli and her favourite almond & raisin clusters.

She exercised a lot. She only ever did cardio at the gym, and it was always for a minimum of 1 hour. For someone who had absolutely hated running back home, a (very expensive, but bounce-proof) sports bra investment had now changed things. She went to the gym 3-5 times a week.

She hadn't fallen sick even once, and she knew she was healthier and had more stamina than ever before. How was it possible that the weight could still creep on?

True, a biscuit or two and/or a few pieces of chocolate would regularly sneak its way into her day as after-meal desserts, but she'd always had something sweet after meals back home too. Come to think of it, she had carbs for every single meal back home, not to mention the regular mamak sessions, but she was still slimmer back then.

It just didn't make any sense now. And it ate away at her self-esteem, which was now completely non-existent. Self-pitying spells had always come and gone back home, but it was even worse now, because it meant she was doing something wrong in taking care of herself.

Thankfully, she wasn't the type who would ever turn to starvation or bulimia or any other eating disorder; she still had some measure of self-respect. But she also wasn't the crazy diet type either, i.e. she would never survive on meal replacements, and if she had to steam everything she ate she would probably kill herself.

She had stopped buying cookies since before cny, because they were such a horrible weakness. Her snack pile, which previously was restocked every week, had now dwindled to a few straggling Oreos and chocolate truffles. So she'd already drastically reduced her intake of empty calories, and she just didn't know what else she could do.

In the whole scheme of things, all she'd really put on was 2-3kg, and her clothes still fit in the same way as before. And some days she'd remember that and things would go okay.

But in darker moments and on bad days, she would continuously stare into her reflection and mentally punch herself for every unsatisfactory, wobbly inch. And then she'd tell herself that the reason she'd been single for so many years was that no man could ever love a fat bitch. Those days usually ended with binge eating and self-loathe.

Those days are now happening too often for comfort.

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