I’m in a long term relationship. With food.

Recently I got told by a rake of a woman that everyone has an emotional connection to food. Hers must be negative because it didn’t look like she’d eaten for about a year.
The irony of it all is that I then got told I needed to lose weight by a woman at the completely opposite end of the scale as the rake. Hmmm.
Here’s the thing.
I’ve never been ridiculously skinny. Put it down to whatever you want: too much food and not enough exercise, a metabolism that’s in a coma: I could go on forever.
At the age of 17 I lost 4 stone out of sheer fear. I feared my future. I ate less but didn’t really move more. It happened in the blink of an eye (less than a year) and it changed my life. But not for the better.
It made me depressed. I thought, up until that point, that if I lost weight I would magically become happier. And in all honesty, I found the opposite was true. I had blamed some of my teenage unhappiness on my ever expanding waistline and figured I’d feel better if I was thinner. Granted, I enjoyed the weight loss compliments for the first couple of months but I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t found enlightenment.
The simple answer is that it wasn’t the food that was making me feel rubbish, it was just life. And that’s a massively upsetting thing to realise so young.
So now here we are almost 5 years later and I’m the fattest I have ever been. Lovely.
It’s not an option to not lose weight, I need to as I have an operation lined up and my blood pressure (which is ridiculously high because of my weight) needs to come down considerably.
And despite what the not rake said (“It’s hard, isn’t it?”), I don’t find it hard to lose weight. I find it hard to think that I might sink back into that low place.
So yes, everyone has an emotional connection to food. The rake is right. It looks like Skinny Wagg is back on. Happy Wagg will have to be put on hold.

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