So, it turns out, I’ve gained about 50 pounds in the past year and a half. Literally 50. Like the size of a kindergartner.
The only glass-is-half-full factor about this is that at least it isn’t quite the fattest that I’ve ever been. But give me 10 more pounds.
Pitifully, I don’t feel supremely motivated to correct this. It was so much damn work to get there in the first place; it’s hard to imagine doing it all over again.
And yet, it was really nice fitting into size 8’s. I wasn’t slim, but I also wasn’t a fat girl.
What I feel the most is shame that my David met me when I was that other person, and then I turned back into the regular fat version. Feels a bit like I tricked him.
It was just so much easier to be self punishing when I was in the throes of a horrible relationship, hating him and hating myself. And Happy Maggie is a Lazy Maggie. Who likes cheese.
Boo.
And hiss.
margaret edith 