Being Frank About My Fat

There's something that's been weighing on my mind (pun intended) for a while. Well, since I'm a woman I'd say my entire life. W e i g h t. The size of a woman and what she "should" look like has been with me for as long as I can remember. But as a disabled "woman of size" it's on my mind now more than ever.

I am fully aware that the more I weigh the more stress there is on my joints and weak muscles. I'm also aware that my weight being well over my personal preferred size does no favors for my health. However there is a constant tug-o-war that happens in my mind. I can know both those things to be true and lack the motivation and will power required to do something about it. Simply put... I LOVE FOOD!

I love to eat. I love to think about what I'm going to eat next while I eat. I love to watch TV shows of people cooking as I eat. I'm not so fond of cooking, but that's where my husband and mother come in as they are both very skilled chefs. 

I tell myself that I still look good (true), am still sexy as hell (also true) and if it makes me that happy then I should indulge. I also tell myself that if I can't have an orgasm I can absolutely replace that joy with food without guilt.

But there is guilt. Because I know that attitude isn't what's best for my body and boy does she let me know it! My pain is only getting worse along with my mobility. If it turns out I need help eventually getting into my chair or bathing, how fair is it that I have extra mass to contend with as well?

So here we have two completely conflicting emotions. The logical, sound reason that I would be much better off if I were to drop at least 80lbs. Then the heartfelt yearning for the taste of yum and more yum (and more...)

What's a cripple girl to do?