Bits of a dysfunctional person over a 3-day period:

I shall not play with the petpet anymore. I need to get a gripe on reality. Got very pressing issues to address (as below).

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I have become fat-ter. It’s official. The scales show my putting on 1 kg. Now I’m tipping past the danger zone to land flat upon cushion-y fats, effortlessly gunning for that life defying, socially repulsive, in-denial status that I really don’t want. On a bad day, I will just worm into myself and pretend I’m tiny. On a good day, I imagine I look only fat, not fat-ter.

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It’s very sad. Now being fat-ter has become an overarching concern. To hell with him (though he always says we are going for walks so that I can exercise, and everything is for my own good). To hell with forging a career. Looks are everything. I just need to be thin so that my career will forge itself. Know what a person who used to work in my company said when we crossed paths during a media exchange? In this company, no one rewards talent. But if you look good, you go far, very far. Which is why she left to work for a rival. At least they pay you better if you wield a pen well and all. Which is true. I’ve seen the byline of a senior. She’s doing fine, lotsa exposure, though she is very average and rather plain.

But maybe she is thin (which I can’t tell from the byline), which makes all the difference in my company, in Singapore.

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My hair has grown out. I’m pretty again. But I’m fat-ter. It could be worse, I know, like be ugly and fat-ter. But that’s no consolation. I should be thin to tremendously improve my life. *obsess*

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The amazing thing is I managed to drag my fat ass to gym for the first time ever, even though I’ve been chanting the gym mantra like forever. It is put formally into action only now. Feel fat. Look fat. And the bloody people who gym are thin. Like hello? Where are my counterparts? Do we really just sleep and eat, and hence the fats haunting us? I will do it again on Sun. Twice a week. Easy now girl. You know you have reached desperation for you to resort to drastic measures instead of postponing things.

I did a slow run, very, very slow run. Clocked a respectable 2.2km over a stretch of imagination by any lousy standard of 20 mins!!!! I walked and ran. And when I stepped down from the machine, my legs were slightly wobbly but I maintained my composure with dignity and pretended I’m going strong with a slow and steady walk to the water cooler.

I tried this stepper thing. It’s supposed to suspend me in mid-air if I keep pacing at a consistent rate. But hey, within 20 steps, I find myself on the ground. Tried for three more times and I stopped. I’m quite a down-to-earth person sometimes.

Then I did the bicycle. My bum hurt more than anything coz the seat wasn’t too comfortable and being not tall, I had to really stretch my legs so that I could reach the whatever-it-is-called and pedal.

I left after an hr after working up a sweat, feeling embarrassed, ugly and fat-ter.

*

No one understands what it’s like to be fat, unless you are fat. To have all these ads blasting your less than perfect frame because you are fat and to keep reminding that you should look like this. It works all the time – eventually when things are constantly in-your-face harping, you get affected. Don’t tell me it doesn’t, fuck you, you stupid person who doesn’t live in the real world. YOU GET AFFECTED. If you don’t, fine, go away, I don’t want to know you, you-who-don’t understand-and-never-will-the-pain-of-being-fat. To hear people go on and on during meals that they are getting fatter when they are thin bitches, while you politely smile and refrain from breaking their brittle bones (and some of them could be good friends). To try clothes that look absolutely gorgeous only to realise, you can’t fit into them. And the real horror is, you thought you could. To wear stuff you bought that now you think somehow doesn’t look that great anymore. To have the sneaking suspicion that indeed, your brilliant future is bloody blocked by fatty tissues and issues. My career is choked. I’m already so old and I’m still fat. Am I not supposed to have shed baby fats a long time ago??? You mean this are permanent fats???

Don’t people have any proper respect and liking for fat girls???

I could have the most wonderful life now. And fats conceal it all. I believe this. Don’t convince me otherwise. And DON’T give me that crap about accepting myself or my fats, that I have personality. Go and die. I will disown you if you are gonna respond like this. I will hate it to be never thin when I’m young. I’m not gonna spend my best years being fat. I’ve wasted enough time looking that way. I’m not going, you hear!!! I will be thin, even if it kills me!!!! Help me to shed my fats if you are my friends (or, my sister). I have decided on losing 15kg (Seriously, I’m that fat even if I don’t look THAT fat yet. Losing 15kg, I will still look none the worse for wear).

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I put on 1 kg I suspect, after 3 consecutive happily greasy days of consuming breakfast from the Malay stall. Fried mee or fried mee topped with the potato croquette I so loved, plus a very fried, fried chicken wing for 3 doomed days..

I’m miserable. People who are thin have no right to be miserable. They don’t understand how absolutely a horror it is to be fat. How you will despise the reflection and dread a mirror, or having a gaggle of females talking about being fat when they are so, so skinny. Etc. etc. etc. No love lost. No sympathy given. I’m wording this very strongly but that’s how I feel. Stay away, I am warning, if you are thin, and still whiny. Try being fat and maybe I can be less condescending and dismissive when you are my size.

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From now till Sunday, I shall minimise the things I’m putting into my mouth and QC. Nothing too fattening, unless I’m exercising it off immediately. Just very short term goals that I can bring myself to work towards. And gym one more time in between.

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Should I really check out the slimming salons?

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Desperately fat.