My birthday month. I’ll be 24.
I don’t feel like celebrating my birthday. Last year my ex and I went for dinner in London. This year I’ll be heading back home to Cambridge to spend it with a few friends.
I thought upon moving to London my social calendar would be completely full. I’d be out in Shoreditch every Friday and Saturday night meeting new people and drinking fluorescent cocktails.
Instead I am eating beans on toast on my bed and wondering if the shrapnel in my back pocket will cover lunch tomorrow.
Food. That’s what I need less of.
I was never thin. But in my late teens due to the pleasure of working shop jobs whilst at college etc I was not too overweight. With my ex a lack of physical exercise combined with eating out a lot meant I piled on the pounds.
My room did not have a full length mirror (thankfully) so I was never really too conscious of what I looked like (aside from when I went into the H&M changing rooms and they have those 360 degree mirrors). I used clothes sizes and a lack of male interest as goalposts.
One day I was out food shopping (haha) and a man walked past and said “big woman”. I brushed it off as if he meant I was tall. Which I am. But that’s not what he meant. Combined with a lady at work who said I have a “lovely face, but it is just the rest” whilst gesturing towards the rest of me, I knew something needed to be done.
I’ll get on the salads.
If I can afford them.