The dress that wouldn’t fit

 

My mother-in-law bought the nicest, cutest dress in London for me to wear on my wedding anniversary. The material was good: the softest lace, nice British collars and the nicest hue of blue. Excitedly, I put it on. 
It did not fit. 

Mother-in-law and sister-one-law balked and keveched on the dress that wouldn’t fit, on the pounds I managed to gain in a year and the weight gain that seemed to latch itself on me for the past year. 

The dress that did not fit now haunts me like a spectre – a reminder of weight gain and the inability to stay fit. Of exercises not made and diets forgotten. 

In spite my foray into counted-calorie food delivery and swearing off rice and Coke and every good thing there is (limited cupcakes and sweets) I feel like that I have managed to gain the 20 pounds that I lost in the past year when I was going through a very rough patch in my life. Sometimes I wish that I was still in the midst of that rough patch  where I don’t sleep or eat if that meant that I will b able to fit in that freaking blue dress.  

I’ve been trying to use Reducin courtesy of ATC, which I blogged about on this space, and it’s helping me a bit control the weight gain. But I realized that it’s not enough. If I have to take drastic measures just to have these weight off for good then that’s what I will do. I am sick and tired of not fitting into clothes, and being teased about my curves, of people hearing my weight and then laughing. I’ve had enough. 

On Monday, I will enrol on a boxing program and hopefully start a new life for me away from my constant battle with the bulge. While this is a more personal post, I will be glad to share this journey with you. 

I am so sick of being labeled fat. One day, I will fit in that dress. 

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