Tuesday, May 14, 2013

My Armor is my prison.

I've come to the conclusion that my body is my armor. I put this armor on to combat everything that life threw at me. I felt fat my entire life, therefore actually becoming fat was a natural progression. Food didn't judge me, and each time something major would occur in my life, I'd throw a few more layers onto "my armor".

My armor has become my prison. It's a prison where food is readily available. Where walking is optional. It's a prison that many people would love to live in, if it weren't for the fact that this armor I put on is killing me. It's slowly ripping every fiber of my being away from me. For everything to be so chaotic around me, I fully enjoy... LIVING. I had so many parts of my life taken from people who had no business taking them, that now that I am an adult with a child of my own, my one true desire is to live this life that I've been so blessed to have. There's so many dreams unseen, so many pieces of ground that I have yet to touch-- yet I'm so comfortable in this prision of mine that I can't make the changes that I need to make in order to live.

It's grabbing me by the throat, forcing me to consume it's soul. It's choking the life out of me. I feel like it's a black hole that has just swallowed me up, and it's so much bigger than I am. It's far beyond my reach. I can't even manage to reason with it. There are no guards, no building, just total life consumption and darkness.

The most bizarre part of this whole prison black hole scenerios is that overall, I'm a positive person. I see things for what they are, and I improve upon them or change my emotions about them until they are the outcome I desire. There are many things in life that I would change, or at least make better (I'd have money, support family, a stable job, I could keep going...) but aside from the prison that my armor has become, I do okay. It's just this one situation here that I can't seem to shake. I can't seem to find the light switch. I KNOW what I need to do. I can VISUALIZE the end product. I know every. single. time. that I eat something I shouldn't. My tiny voice functions, and it screams at me daily.

I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't sure how I'll react to myself once I reach the end of the battle. I'm not even sure at this point if that's something I will be able to do.

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