More often than not, I feel hopeless. I give up. I cannot overcome myself, my body, these hundreds of pounds shrouding my body. It is easier, I think, to be miserable, to remain mired in self-loathing. I don't hate myself the way society expects me to until I have a bad day and then I do hate myself. I disgust myself. I cannot stand my weakness, my inertia, my inability to overcome my past, to overcome my body. This hopelessness is paralyzing. Working out and eating well and trying to take good care of myself start to feel futile. I look at my body, and I live in my body, and I think, I will never know anything but this. I will never know anything better than this. And then I think, If I am really this miserable, if my life really is this hard, why do I still do nothing? All too often, I look at myself in the mirror and all I can do is ask myself, Why? and What is it going to take for you to find the strength to change?
( Roxane Gay )
[ Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body ]
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