A journey in words...

Welcome to my journey in words! A story about health, exercise, weight loss, food addiction, humor, size discrimination, sarcasm, social commentary and all the rest that’s rattling around inside my head...

I now twit, er... or tweet. Anyway, you can follow me on twitter @Aeon1202

Wednesday, March 19, 2014


It feels like a precious wound that I am cradling.

Not firm now, but shrinking inside as the cells desiccate.  They grow smaller while the outer covering of winter-pale skin sags, wrinkling down as it empties out inside.  I am soft and loose all over.  I am a melting ice cream cone, a slowly disappearing snowman.

Time passes and I starve and starve it, forcing it to tap into years worth of stored history.  Forcing it to activate a system designed to keep it from dying when there were no resources to be found, a system meant to bring it through a long, cold season of constant deprivation.  I am spelunking into the past of what I was doing/thinking/eating/feeling when that overabundance of energy was secreted away for later times.

This isn’t about beauty.

I run my hands over it and feel the bones beneath the skin where before there was only rolling acres of flesh.  Hard angles pressing my knees against one another when I lay on my side, prominences of hip when I lay on my back.  My cheekbones stand in relief on my face where before they were buried, pillowed by my round, baby-fat features.

For the first time in my life I think that my face looks old.

I look different in pictures but the same when I stand naked, looking down.  I don’t see that I have really changed and yet I don’t fully recognize my own face any longer.  The angular, older-looking face in the mirror isn’t yet me, and I don’t know when it will be.  I don’t know if I lived large for too long to ever heal the slowly hanging scars that are being left behind.

Losing weight isn’t healthy, being at a lesser weight is.  The process of losing weight is a system of slowly doing damage.

I don’t know how to be a “normal” sized person.  I don’t know how that feels, or acts, or looks.  This is exhilarating, and victorious, and frightening, and painful, and more difficult than almost anything I have tried to do before.

I have to continue because I couldn’t love the body that was or the person I knew how to be.  I have to believe that one day I can stop shrinking and this precious wound will finally be allowed to heal.

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