Waiting and watching.

Waiting in the hospital.
In a crowded hall.
People coming and going.
I concluded they were diabetes patients, most of them, at their regular test, receiving medication and a new appointment.
So, they were not very ill. Mostly vital people. Personalities and appearances as diverse as can be.

I was sitting there for over an hour. Probably due to myself being fifteen minutes late.
I can wait very well. Enjoy waitng. Discretely observing people.

Till I was startled by the realization that I was the exception.
I saw people who seemed to go about the business of their daily life, in all their diversity.
And that is something that I can't do. I made myself that extremely heavy that "going about daily life" is impossible. For all to see. See me and you know instantly that i will not be able to cope.

It was hard. And I knew that I no longer wish to be this type of exception.
I can't afford anymore to be unable to do anything.
Can I walk?
Can I cycle?
Can I climb the stairs, stand in a row, wash the windows, go on a trip, ride horses?
Can I accompany my children?
Can I do anything when it is later in the day?
No. No. No.
It hurts, I pant, my heart and head nearly burst, I am overcome by tiredness, my legs have so much trouble carrying me, that I seem glued to the ground.
So I sit. Most of the time. And even sitting is tiring.

And now it must be enough.
I lost weight last Summer and it was helpful. But it was tough too, to abstain.
And then things were not easy and I was tensed and tired, so I started eating again, more than normal even.
So all that I lost is back; in only six months all efforts gone waste.

And there I sat. Among all those people. Many of them way older and fitter than me.
I sat there as a consquence of my weight. Knowing that because of that weight diagnosis and treatment is going to be hard, if not impossible.

What more do I need to convince myself that I am actually already too late to lose weight?

It could only take eight months, if I stick to the diet rigorously, to get such a weight that I can even ride an Arabian horse again. That I can run to the bus again and go shopping for clothes, with my children, easily.

Why so afraid?
Food is the thing that keeps my mood happy, that pulls me through the days.
It is sick to admit it, but its true.

Eight months, to lose an odd hundred kilos, look like a door I can't open, because I have no key.
It looks like I am going to inprison myself. It looks, LOOKS, impossible.
BUT IT IS NOT!
So many people have proven that already.
Are they less tired than me? Are they stronger than me? Do they have better reasons than me?

SHUT UP YOU GIRL!
GO AND DO IT AND DON'T MOAN LIKE A WEAKLING!
I HATE MYSELF SOMETIMES!
AND ALL SHOULD HATE ME, my near ones that is, CAUSE I BURDEN THEM UNJUSTLY AND THEY BY NOW HAVE A RIGHT TO DEMAND SOMETHING FROM ME

Why do i feel like I am making theatre here?

DROWN IN YOUR SHIT YOU STUPID
it will happen soon enough if you don't stop "eating" now!