My Earlobes Still Feel Fat

Well, in fairness, this one was a nurse.  And she was pretty cool.  But the numbers were still assholes. A little background: I'm still in London, and not going home as often / uninsured in the States, so I decided it was well past time to try to get my birth control on the NHS.  So I went into the clinic affiliated with my Uni.  And of course they had to weigh/measure me.  And of course my BMI says I'm obese. Fuck off, BMI.  Obese??  Ok, I could lose a few stone, but if you're seriously telling me I have to lose 50 pounds to be within the range of 'normal,' you're off your rocker.  I'm a size 12, for god's sake!  I know it's not slender, but it's certainly not obese either! I'm so sick of being controlled by numbers.  Even the nurse, when I told her I'd had weight-loss surgery and had been leveling out within 10 pounds of my current weight for the past 9 years, said she thought the numbers were a bit silly as they don't take b...

The lovely bf took me to Mexico a couple of months ago, and I started a blog post there.  Obviously, I never finished it, because I was distracted by the beautiful pool and our personal pastry class and the delectable food everywhere we turned, but I looked at it again today and realized that the subject I wanted to touch on is still worth discussing.  Basically, I started the post with a photo of the amazing resort where we were staying.  And I mean AMAZING.  I’ve never before in my life stayed at a hotel so beautiful and comfortable and just plain stunning that I didn’t want to leave the compound walls.  I’m all about real Mexico– the people, the culture, the food– but I had absolutely no desire to leave ever.  I could seriously live in this amazing place.  This is important for you to know, not so I can brag, but so you can understand how pissed off I was to still feel like such a fat cow.  I mean, here I was, with my own private villa w...

I'm so tired of being trapped in this body. How many times in the last few months have I posted about my body making me miserable? Honestly I feel like it's just the story of my life. I'm living out a life sentence in a horrible cell that I can't seem to change at all. And the worst part is that whoever is holding me here lets me out every now and then, liberates me from the prison of fat and self-loathing, and I get to smell the wildflowers and frolic in the meadows and all that great stuff, but then the alarm sounds and the dogs bark and before I know it I'm incarcerated again. And the really fucked up thing is that I'm living two (or more) lives: one of me is constantly trapped in these body issues (and not just the image, but the reality of my weight and my size and all the exercise and dieting in the world not making a dent in the cellulite), and the other lives this great life, with fabulous friends and a hilarious family and a wonderful, supportive boy...