to write a diary and spread it open for
public view on the internet, much less a blogger (though I am an avid blog
surfer). But this time, my dieting has
taken a toll on me and my body. This
fight is draining in every sense of the word.
I can feel instinctively and physically my body is torn. I am scared.
So I decided to write. To share
my experience (though not sure how many people will find it interesting, not
many I expect), but more in the hope that perhaps this will help me be stronger
and find a solution that I can stick with, literally, for the rest of my life.
The ordeal this time – which caused all the side effects of
my previous failed diets and yo-yos to surface – is that I have a wedding
coming up. My own. It’s not just the physical side effects that are
draining the life out of me. It’s the
psychological fight and defeats – more so than the physical struggle.
Where to begin..
I just spent 15 min already this morning surfing my fav
style/fashion blogs online, despite the fact that I came in early (7am)
exceptionally to finish off the mountain of piled work due before 11am. I love style and fashion. I am an ordinary girl. (Quickly on the topic of fashion and style, I do believe there’s
style (as distinct from fashion) and there’s the body. The body is essential, style is a decor, secondary).
I’ve been in what I call an “extreme diet” since Tuesday
(today is Friday). I am hoping to lose
at least 1 kg pure fat this week (not sure I will get there) as I have my photoshoot
for the wedding next Friday. I am tired
in ways I cannot do justice by describing in words. I have no energy – perfectly normal and
expected as the extreme diet consists of one banana in the morning after a continuous
3 mile run (or at intervals) on an empty stomach and ½ fist worth of brown rice
at noon, the rest all proteins and veggies.
I have stuck to this extreme diet for 3 days (today is the 4th)
and done it in a machine-like way – meaning I do not want to think anymore, I
just do what I have to as a machine (workout, eat my fixed meals at given times
when my iphone tells me to). I cannot
think anymore. I do not want to set
goals anymore. I do not want to worry
about whether I can do this, stick with this and the scariest of all questions,
how much body is suffering now and how much more it will suffer afterwards and
ponder for hours and constantly over why I have to do this and how much I want
this. Simply put, I feel miserable. So miserable I tear up whenever I am on the
treadmill and feel my leg stiffen at the strenuous exercise without energy to
compensate and whenever I see my reflection in the mirror.
Yet, and this is where the complexity (and simplicity (a.k.a
stupidity)) of my spirit baffles me, when I surf these blogs, I am glad I feel
(not am) slimmer today. Talk about a
messed up mind. Seriously
psychotic.
