Isn't it fucking hard?  Yes it is.  By this I mean (In case you are already lost down the winding road of crap writing) trying to get fit and lose weight.  Some of you are already aware that I have great issues being a rather large figure of a bird and have, over the past few years having given up fags, grown in size.  This has a massive effect on my mental well being as many of you who suffer from the 'I'm between a 14 and 32 dress size syndrome'.  Mentally, feeling shite every day due to weight gain can change your whole out look on life.  It took me many years to break the cycle of hopping on and off bathroom scales and just recently I have been MADE to start this all over again.  I say made, I was told to, by the dietician at the hospital I have to attend.  She thought it would be a good idea to keep a check on how much I was losing each month.  But, as thought it had the reverse affect on someone with a very fucked up mind and a real issue with food.

I gained weight, in fact, the scales have never been a very good friend of mine anyway, so they have been removed from the bathroom for some time and hidden in the sitting room.

This has been part of the crippling process of ‘caveman Chic’ hiding away because it’s easier than going out and facing the world.  Of course I work, but I leave so early in the morning, it isn’t an issue because there isn’t much life at that time around these parts.  In the evening it isn’t so bad, especially in winter when night falls, I can cover up pretty well and become wonder woman of the dark allies.

So, in January I found out I was diabetic.  They had two readings at 7.6 or something.  I later found out that many have that reading, but like a good grrl, scared of the same downfall as my Mummy, I did as I was told.  That was after the shock of trying to hold back the tears when my niece asked if there was anything wrong after a meeting with the CBT nurse.  I felt I was morning for mummy all over again.  I could and sometimes can only see her future, like she lives within me, and I am living the last few years of her life. 

So, I am trying hard, no.. that’s a lie.  I am not trying hard at all.  I am trying yes but not putting my all into it, cause I think somewhere inside me, I wonder what the point is.  I have the diabetes under control at 4.6 and have joined the gym, and I am being seen by a general surgeon for a stomach bypass…  Yes, that’s right, a stomach bypass.  I’ve cut down on the size of plate I use at home, it didn’t work.  I’ve cut down on my pan size to stop large portions being cooked, that wasn’t successful, and so now I am going directly for the stomach.  It’s a ten grand op which I basically don’t want.  I can’t lie and say I am happy about even going down this road.  I doubt I shall go through with it, it scares me.  It’s funny what desperation does to you when you feel hounded out of your own head because of how you look and feel. Although life like this isn’t good either and if I die on the table under the knife of a very arrogant man, at least I die trying – she says hitting her wooden desk! 

So how do you reinvent yourself after many years of self abuse?  How do you change things back to what is considered to be normal?  The past events in my life in the last ten years have all had the most drastic effect on my soul.  A darkness surrounds me and I wonder just what I am capable of when left to my own devices.  Odd really.  If you had asked me four years ago if I would be at this point today, I would have told you where to get off.  I still can’t get my head around life.