Hunger Panger

Hunger is an illusion. That’s the latest theme of my life. I am surviving on 4 litres of lemon water, 4 cups of milk and trying hard to tell myself that its doing me good. It is in a way. I am a good 20 kilos lighter and I am a whole lot fitter, but I am also one of those girls I once hated. I cringe at the sight of oily food (its hypocrisy because I still want to eat it). I’m extremely paranoid about the calorie content of my lip balm even. And I am asking the men in my life the dreadful question, ‘Do I look fat?’
So how did I become this monster? I grew up promising myself I would never be like this. I promised myself I wouldn’t shop for clothes that required me to suck my tummy in and now?

Well, firstly I fluffed up and then I found the magic word-‘detox’. This included trips halfway across town to a doctor, depriving myself of food to the extent of crying my hungry self to sleep and sweaty, tiring walks around five gardens.

It was an impossible task but as soon as my first kilo was off, I realised how good it felt. I went on and on until I was about 10 kilos lighter. And I fell in love with the feeling of fitting into clothes two sizes smaller. I loved the way my old clothes hung on me, and I loved how everyone gushed about my weight loss for a change.
The addiction continued. I kept walking, I kept eating right and I kept sipping black tea and fruit juices through the day to keep my body in shape. And it happened. I started missing the lose jeans syndrome and I was back on the dreadful detox. It’s got me down to the size I was in school (I was a chubby girl!) I love the lighter feeling and I love fitting into clothes that I once looked at in disdain.

But I have also turned into a typical girl. I suddenly love getting my hair done (I had a crew cut back in college!) I loved shopping for clothes, I loved taking a walk rather than eating at an all-you-can-eat buffet and I actually care if my clothes match my bag.

Which makes me wonder, do we tell ourselves that we don’t care about our (or for that matter, others’) appearances simply because we aren’t ready to work hard enough on our appearance. Or is it that we live in denial, forever rejecting the idea that losing weight is good for not just your appearance but your health even.

Or does getting a little thin cause a chemical locha in our brain which makes us realise how much we can stretch ourselves to look good? I am wondering help me before I turn into a monster I promised myself I’d never turn into…

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