But….

People get sick of me pretty quickly.  I’m the human equivalent of chocolate fudge cake.  It seems like a good idea at the time, but after a couple of mouthfuls you realise that it’s just not sitting right and you can’t manage any more.

I’m good at working out when people have had enough; pre-empting it to soften the blow.  Still hurts, though.  This week was yet another of those experiences.  “You’re a really nice girl, but….. ”  I could transcribe those conversations, print them out and paper every wall in a stately home with them.

‘But’ is the word that best describes my life.  “You could be pretty, but you’re fat.”  “I could be happy with you, but I’m not looking for that at the moment.”  “You could be a Formula 1 driver, but you’re shit at taking roundabouts.”

I think that’s why I got fat in the first place.  I’m not clueless, or one of those people who says ‘Who knows how I ended up like this? It must be genetic!’   For me, it was nothing to do with my DNA.  It was eating foods that were high in fat and sugar, then deciding not to exercise.

It’s difficult though.  Food has never said ‘but’ to me.  Banoffee pie says ‘You’ve had a hard week and I will make you feel better temporarily.’  Biscuits have never told me it’s over.  Crips and cake have always accepted me just the way I am, and although I know they’re killing me, the comfort they provide is addictive.

This week has been a real challenge in terms of not eating crap or drinking alcohol.  Sugar (fermented or otherwise) to anaesthetise myself would have helped.  It’s ridiculous, I know.  I’ve seen posts from friends on Facebook who are going through genuine, life-changing trauma, and I know that being chucked by some guy doesn’t even compare.  It doesn’t mean it can’t still hurt though.

You shouldn’t value your self-worth based on the affections of another person, but when yet another person gets sick of chocolate fudge cake, it’s hard not to take it personally.

I learned to make low-carb pancakes today, and they tasted reasonably good.  Some of them, and a bit of low-carb fruit syrup has had to do, but the bottle of wine on the kitchen worktop is calling.  Today, it’s been hard to block my ears.

He’s not a horrible man, but he’s not a great one, either  The belief that somebody out there will settle for chocolate fudge keeps me going.  After all, I settled for it for years.

Onwards, lady.  Two stones off, and onwards.  Upwards seems a bit optimistic at the moment.  Maybe just not downwards?  A bit of a plateau would be nice.