The Fat Girl's Dream

Chapter Three - Or Something.

Chapter Three- Or Something

I was in a mood, no doubt about it. A phone call from my stepsister sent me spiralling into binge mode. My coping mechanism. She was getting married, great, and she was calling to let me know that the incredibly expensive boutique she was shopping at had bridesmaid dresses up to a size 14, the wedding was next year. She rang to tell me that I had a year to drop nearly 4 1/2 dress sizes.

As a result, I had spent a large portion of my evening binging on anything in sight, because naturally, that was the only adequate and adult response. I sat in my bed drowning in the sickly feeling of being far too full. I was in the middle of a self-motivating speech to finally lose weight, yet again, so that I could attend my sister's wedding, who really was usually a lovely person, if a little selfish at times. But I wasn't feeling it.

No doubt about it, I had trawled the internet many times in my life for 'hacks' or tips for losing weight, hadn't we all? And one of the key things that came up all the time was to firstly lose weight only for yourself and to make your goal something not based aesthetically.

I want to lose weight so I can fit in my sister's size 14 dress and so I can look good. So with two large crosses on those two checklists, we're off to a good start, naturally. But if that's my motivation I can't help that I don't want to be able to do pull-ups or bench a certain weight, I want to wake up in the morning and not despise the body I see in the mirror.

I looked down at the rolls protruding from my jeans and felt a sharp pain in my chest. I felt disgusting and tired, just so tired of it all. The yoyo diets, the shame and the embarrassment. I was trapped in this whirlwind of self-deprecation I couldn't get out of, it wasn't a conscious thing. That niggling voice that loved to insult me or make me feel ashamed, that forces me to eat things when I'm not hungry, just because I'm bored. I felt a tear stroll down my cheek leisurely.

Would I ever not feel like this?

I sat up and looked down at my phone, wiping the lone tear away, I had gotten a reminder email for an event later today. My job as a freelance photographer meant that for the most part I stayed home and edited pictures. Although I took my own pictures, a large amount of my income were other photographers that didn't like the editing portion of their job, and so paid me commission to do it for them.

In return, I offered a small discount if they let me put the before and after pictures on my website. I made a good living from it and I enjoyed it a lot. It also allowed me to indulge in my hermit tendencies and escape the cold reality of going outside. It provided enough that I could live comfortably in this house, which I paid for since Amy is an up and coming model who hadn't yet 'made the big time'. I was... happily complacent.

One niggling thing was my drive to do more. There were only so many shoots I could do of babies or weddings before things got a bit stale. There was no excitement and a severe limit to my creativity. Both parties involved in those usually came to the table knowing exactly what kinds of pictures they wanted and I followed that. Which is completely fine, but I'd like to experiment more. Push my clientele boat out a little.

And so: the event. It was a talk on advertising your business and 'getting ahead' so to speak. This was one of those stupid new years resolutions things I had promised myself, and this was me making good on it. I was tired of my business suffering because of my overbearing anxiety regarding social situations.

Even now my heart pounded, my poor overworked heart, at the prospect of what could go wrong in this event. I could be called upon to give a talk myself, I could be asked questions or approached by somebody. Even worse, it could actually work and then I'd have more business contacts to deal with. Yet again my conscious ran away with itself twisting anything positive into terrifying prospects.