Auntie Bev's Rocky Road Cheesecake

First and foremost, because I can’t keep it in anymore without slowly dying from acidic anger melting my insides in ire, I want to talk about that bloody Brick woman. I know what you’re all expecting, you’re either rolling your eyes in dismay and preparing for another attack on the woman who brought you “Why women hate me for being beautiful” and “I use my sex-appeal to get ahead at work...and so does ANY woman with sense” (which partially answers the questions raised in the first article), or your eager for another round of picking at the carcass of her delusion like a vulture with a taste for the vapid. I’m afraid that I will deliver neither, having already vented my spleen on Facebook, several times.

However, I would like to draw your attention to another article, one that is more in keeping with the theme of this blog, namely “Why a magazine for large women is just a big, fat con (and I should know, I used to be a size 16)”. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1316663/Why-magazine-Just-As-Beautiful-large-women-big-fat-con.html

The magazine in question, Just as Beautiful http://www.justasbeautiful.com/ prides itself on using plus-sized models and not featuring diet tips. It proclaims itself “...the UK’s official mouthpiece for curvy, real-size and plus-size women”. Personally, having had a look through, it seems to be nothing more sinister than a magazine to make women feel good about being themselves. In the current climate of ‘anything but thin is a sin’, where celebrities are praised for their (pathetic attempt at) curves, and then in the very same magazines are praised considerably more when they shed said “curves” a month later, I find it a breath of fresh air that there is a place to go where beautiful women look like you and it’s ok to have a sense of self-worth even though you’re fat. They don’t glamourise obesity; they boost self-esteem and a sense of normality. However, who am I to talk? I’m not a journalist, and heaven knows I’m not a size 16 – the national average female dress-size in the UK by the way. No, I’m terribly overqualified size wise!

My guilty pleasure this week was imagining Samantha Brick guest appearing at a Weight Watchers meeting or a branch of Evans and preaching to women about the error of their ways from her lofty, self-righteous perch of an ex-size 16. The ending would no doubt be similar to the lynching scene in the film adaptation of A Handmaid’s Tale.

Anyway, enough of that, how did my week go? Well, it was a mixture really of abject failure and astounding success – much like last week. The week itself was hard being, as I mentioned in my previous blog entry, the week following my most difficult, Tony-less London moments. I decided to forgo swimming this week in favour of company instead. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt it’s that I can’t lose weight unless I’m healthy, and when I say healthy I mean it in a brain way. The blessing though was that this week was a four day week, meaning only three nights to fill until I saw Tony again. Monday night was spent drinking tea and therapeutically comparing nightmare landlords (thank you so much Kasia!), Tuesday was spent in the pub with a lovely new work colleague and Wednesday was spent on a Jack the Ripper walking tour with my best friend followed by a restorative glass of wine in what disappointingly turned out to be a Wetherspoons having looked like a regency-esque hotel from the outside. I highly recommend the tour by the way, a brilliant, entertaining and informative guide took us back in time to the murder sites (not literally), filled us in on the prime suspects, taught us much about the history of the East End of London and included just the right amount of gore. http://www.walks.com/London_Walks_Home/Jack_the_Ripper_Tour/default.aspx

Thus I filled my week and counted down the days until I could get over my homesickness, and I am very grateful to everyone who contributed. I’ll be brutally honest for moment though, forgive me: every day I felt that little private gut-wrenching flavour of loneliness, and I not only found it hard to concentrate on work, I found myself tearful several times without really understanding why. Loneliness is a relatively new feeling for me and one with which I didn’t cope particularly well. The week seemed to literally be on hold until I could leave for Manchester and time moved so slowly you’d have thought it knew. The real danger of feelings like these is that they lead to other things. A feeling like loneliness, or failure, allows doubts to creep in about my self-worth. The worst feeling though is realising you’ve lost control, that you’re on your way down the spiral again trying desperately to cling to anything that’ll stop you. That’s what depression is like; it’s like treading water and hoping you reach land before you become too tired to continue. That’s what this week felt like: treading water and hanging on until I reached the island of the weekend and could breathe again. The saving grace is that it’s easier now; following The Big Breakdown of 2010 and subsequent medication, everything’s easier. I can recognise the signs and I know when I’m ill, which was sadly missing in years past, and knowing about it means I can do something about it – hence the social, exercise-less week. See? We don’t sit around and eat cake to avoid exercise, some of us have real and pressing priorities.

The weekend itself was even more of a mix of fail and win. Thursday night was perfect, I was back home with Tony and Philip and could physically feel the weight and unhappiness of the previous week leaving my body as I snuggled further into the sofa with the men in my life. Friday brought a trip to the shops and an outing to the pub with Tony’s friends and Saturday contained a visit to his parents’ (and their dog and three cats :) ) followed by birthday celebrations for my cousin at my aunt and uncle’s house. And therein lay the fail. And the fail shall be known henceforth as Auntie Bev’s Rocky Road Cheesecake and the two pieces I ate. But God, it was worth it!

One thing I’ve come to learn about this process is that it’s about equal parts forgiveness and firmness. This week was about healing: I needed it and without it I wouldn’t make any progress. This is a trap in which I’ve been caught in the past. If I deny myself the things I need in order to progress and constantly beat myself up for not progressing then I might as well give up and beat my head against a wall, brick or otherwise. It won’t help, but it’ll soon put an end to my ridiculous, circular struggle. When I need time out to feel mentally strong enough to continue, I have to take it. I need to forgive myself the necessities, accept that The Cheesecake was NOT one of them and now focus on using the strength I’ve rebuilt in order to move forward. As it turns out the week was not a total loss, in fact it wasn’t a loss at all in that I didn’t lose any weight. However, I didn’t gain any either and I can live with that. But just for this week.

So what am I doing to fix it? Well, last night I went to the supermarket, not in order to start anything with a Common Jarvis Cocker, but to stock up on supplies. These supplies consist of substitutes – soup ingredients as a substitute for my Prêt a Manger (low fat) soup. Fruit and raisins as a substitute for whatever snacks are lying around the office. Pitta and ryvita as a substitute for bread. To be honest, eating hasn’t been a problem so far, I’ve been calorie-counting and making damned good choices, but taking away temptation is a very important part of will power, and after the calorie-laden weekend I’ve had planning ahead is nothing but a good thing! I’ve also packed my swimming bag for tonight.

Perhaps the greatest motivator though was the sight of the bridesmaid dress I will be wearing for my oldest friend (in time known, not age)’s wedding. The colour is yet to be decided, and I’ll give nothing away about the style it not being my wedding, but suffice to say: It. Is. Awesome.

Wish me luck…