My old journal
For the past 3 years of living alone, social media has been an essential part of my survival. Honestly, I have recognized symptoms of addiction in myself and tried to purge, but I can’t. Because we are scattered all over the globe, social media is the cheaper route of being in touch with my family. I also recognize that while the things I post garner a lot of likes and a handful of comments, very few of these people would actually sit down with me and chat.
In hindsight, the people I share most intimately with are not the people I interact with on social media on a daily basis. The two worlds remain separate, albeit overlap at times, and for those times that they do overlap, I would eternally be grateful for the existence of social media.
November 2011 - My cousin’s wedding.
120lbs. Crash dieting. No exercise.
May 2012 - Beach outing. 130lbs. Depressed. Stress eating. No exercise.
January 2013 - Diagnosed with isthmic spondylolisthesis. 130lbs. Perhaps one of the lowest points of my life. I started swimming, then doing yoga this year.
May 2014 - My graduation from my masters. 147lbs. Still doing yoga and Herbalife. Still not an ideal weight, but getting there.
I still don’t have my ideal body, and my definition of an ideal body is moving past my disability and being able to move like a normal person, train like a normal athlete, join triathlons, do yoga and do extreme sports without pain or difficulty.
Looking at these pictures, I look fucking great in 2011. I actually went “Holy fuck, I was thinner than I thought I was.” And there it is. I was really thinner then, but I wasn’t happier back then than I am now. Back then, I hated those arms, and I basically starved myself for four months to fit in that gorgeous dress. I subsisted on wheat crackers and canned tuna. When I was hungry, I was cranky. I pushed people away. I was insecure and miserable.
Now, I am heavier, but I do look better than I did way back in 2012, don’t I? I’m healthier, I enjoy doing yoga as my work-out, I don’t go hungry. My arms are bigger than they used to be, yeah, but to be honest?
I feel sexier. I’m more comfortable in my skin. I am more confident when dressing. I smile more. I enjoy my friends. I don’t focus on my weight, but on the things I enjoy. I love my life.
The scale doesn’t tell the whole story.
Saturday Simply Yoga. Emphasis on stretching the shoulder and building a better downward dog. I’m going to get my ankles down to the floor someday. Oh, and I wear black when I ohm it out coz it’s a funeral for my fat. ;)
Yes but Beyonce doesn’t live independently and work 12-hour shifts while gaining her Master’s degree. I bet that bitch doesn’t even know how to wash dishes, get out stains from her clothes or whip up a dinner in 20 minutes.
New habit: learning Spanish while drinking my morning coffee. And then after Spanish, Italian, then Portuguese, then French. Oh all my favorite languages!
"Consensual sex" is just sex. To say that implies that there is such a thing as "non consensual sex", which there isn’t. That’s rape. That is what it needs to be called. There is only sex or rape. Do not teach people that rape is just another type of sex. They are two very separate events. You wouldn’t say "breathing swimming" and "non breathing swimming", you say swimming and drowning.