Hurry up, Sheeran

So ‘Blue Monday’ has already been and gone. The day that supposedly is the most depressing day of each year, ironically falling only a mere couple of weeks after all the promising happy New Year exclamations and marking a cutting end to those bundles of optimism and motivation we all had for the year ahead. More divorces happen on this day, more suicides happen on this day and there was me thinking that I was experiencing what I thought to be a terrible Blue Monday because I got my feet a little wet from my own self-induced need to run at 06:30 in the morning. Probably only a little better than last year’s Blue Monday where I was reminded by TimeHop that I’d gone to the gym in non-matching trainers. Perhaps I’m doomed to a life of ever befitting Blue Monday’s!

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Unfortunately for both me and anyone caring to read this, you’re probably about to embark on some miserable, glass half-empty depiction of the last few weeks since my last update. So get your coffee ready because you’ll need some serious alertness before continuing to read on to my dulcet drones. Men reading this? I do apologise but I touch on the topic of ‘The time of the month’ so grab the super, jumbo tampons now because I mention the word period – just the one time I promise.

January has so far seen nothing but cold and rain which has coincided perfectly to make a shit tonne of pathetic fallacy for how I’ve thus been feeling. I’ve wanted to spend 90% of my time, curled up in a comfortable ball with my onesie and have Ed Sheeran sing to me that he’s in love with the shape of me with the other 10% still curled up in a ball just with no Ed Sheeran. Furthering that, maybe not even Ed Sheeran, more so someone just speaking those words to me and a someone that’s managed to notice I’m not just a fat ball of polkadot material, though perhaps he would be quite useful for reassuring my tan that there is still some left remaining on my skin from my Christmas holiday.

Persistent exercise and loss of weight gives women the ultimate combination for being amenorrheic – absent from periods. There, done, the word of red mess has passed. Where I was once clinging on to staying this way because it sometimes feels like the only thing I have left from anorexia, I’m now past the stage of my body ill-functioning because the hormones are becoming a bitch and I’m quite frankly fed up of being some irritable and miserable being – let’s just hope it actually is only the hormones and I’m not actually bound this way forever! My happy pills are long gone, so yes, for now I am living in hope that it is just hormones and it’s going to pass soon when my female parts burst its banks.

I have so far just not been able to shake the feelings of feeling so incredibly huge, ugly and unworthy. I hate that my mind is leading me to believe that I’m failing every day because I now have such a huge diversity of food in my once broccoli dominated diet. So the combination of feeling so repulsive and feeling like that of a failure, has just morphed me into such negativity over the past few weeks, that I just don’t seem to have the enthusiasm for anything at the moment – even including the daily 06:30, 0 degree runs, that seemed to have me jumping out of bed only a couple of months ago. Now it just feels like an almighty slog, as I wake up half the street with the sound of my now colossal body weight pounding the path, with me enduring the overwhelming effort that seems to come with lifting one hippo leg after the other.

So Ed, wherever you are, please just come and reassure me that my mirror is maybe playing tricks on me and maybe I can learn to like my shape – warts* and all.

*This is completely a figure of speech. I do not in fact have warts. What a fine way that would be to add to my negative body image if I did, eh?

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