I'm not sure on how to start this topic, so I'll just go along as I think about it. This is a subject that I'd never really talked about to anybody, save a touch here and there. I don't because it's an embarrassing topic and most of the people I know have no problems with it, or have no outward issues about it. But for all I know, they're fighting their own demons as well.

I asked for a favour from Malek some days ago, to purchase Billie Piper's autobiography "Growing Pains" from ebay, and he came by to deliver it to me last night. Unneccessarily so, but that's Malek for you, yah? But we're not here to discuss about Malek today. No, sorry, dude. Some other time maybe.

I'm about half-way through the autobiography. I've always liked Billie Piper as a singer, having heard "Girlfriend", her second single, and thought it was cool before I even saw a picture of her. And since she's as cute as a button, I became an instant fan. She recently starred in Doctor Who as Rose, and made me a fan of the show as well. I knew about her biography through Wikipedia, and hunted it for a while. When all I found were the unauthorised versions, I gave up. Being such a fanboy, and knowing Malek shops online, I thus asked him for a favour.

Reading about Billie Piper's eating disorder back before recording her "Walk Of Life" album was disconcerting. She had written stories about how she'd not eat for days, and to stop herself from feeling hungry, she'd punch her stomach hard. I cringed when I read about that, but somewhat understood why she did it. She also wrote about eating up to 7 laxative tablets whenever she felt like she over-ate during the day - which she explained that a morsel of chicken would be considered as overeating. She survived on a diet of coffee, cigarettes and diet Cokes, with salad or some chicken if she felt like she was about to faint.

When she was super-thin, she wrote a poem which had a line that called herself obese. When does a diet turn into an eating disorder which turns into a psychological disorder? Or is the latter two just the same thing? She would look at her body and get totally depressed (and then auto-destructive) when she saw a hint of curve on her stomach.

I am not happy with my body. Obviously. I don't talk about it because I am embarrassed by the topic. But I would stare at the parts of me that are not "right" and would feel a surge of disgust and annoyance and utter disappointment with myself. I usually will stop myself and tell myself to start doing something about it, instead of just feeling fucked up about it. I have started several "regimes" which never lasted, and I never feel motivated to restart them. Mostly I know what I need to do to lose weight, but I always end up sabotaging myself, or just ignoring my common sense.

This, I think, is a different kind of eating disorder as well. One I need to find a way to combat. I remember being only slightly overweight while in secondary school, but after that, I have gained so much weight it's not even funny. The last time I was the least obese was after Basic Military Training. I hardly had any man-boobs (or moobs, as A.A called them) and you can hardly see my paunch. Not to say I was in the healthy weight range yet, but still. I was wearing L-sized clothes then, and that's such an achievement for me. I remember feeling elated when Large-sized clothes fit me and XL clothes were like tents.

Subconsciously, and consciously even, I believe I attribute my being single to my weight. Like every other day, I'd think, "Man, if I was thin, I'm sure I'd find a girlfriend."

And I think that's true. Not for the implied reason that girls are superficial, but due to the fact that I shy away from people at the states I'm in now. Physical and mental states. I'm sure I'd go out more often if I'm less fat. I'm sure I'd look better when I don't have this jowl. I'm sure I'd smell better if I don't fucking sweat all the time because I'm fucking fat. I'm sure this shirt will look better on me if I don't have man-boobs. I'm sure I'd be more adventurous in meeting people if I lose 70 kg. Hell, 50 kg. 30 kg. 10 kg even.

I'd start exercising a little bit when I've scared myself silly from all these crazy thoughts. Then I lose track of why I was doing the exercises and fall back to not doing shit. I'd be sabotaging my efforts all the time. From sleeping super-late so that I wake up too late to exercise. Too late to exercise? Is there even such a thing? Another sabotage. I know that I like the rush after a good workout. The feeling that I've achieved something. But the determination is short-lived.

My excuse is that if I have someone to work out with me, I will stick to the regime. I'd be able to make it last longer, and I will get results. And I believe this because I've never tried it. One day maybe I will. One day. Another sabotage. Why not today? Why not now?

I tried a simple routine sometime ago. I read online that if you don't exercise at all previously even a 5-minutes walk would benefit you. A simple 5-minutes walk every day would accumulate and show you results. It'd be slow, but it'd be a start. And I tried that. For two days. Then I got bored and I stopped. I didn't do a 5-minutes walk, though. I did an hour walk. Maybe I tried too much too soon. But I figured since I'm already out, I'd walk more. Maybe psychologically, my body remembered that I had walked 1 hr the day before, so it knew that I'd walk 1 hr the next day too, and decided to shut down on me. Why? I have no idea.

I have a younger brother who has a super high metabolism rate. He can eat as much junk food as he likes (and he does, often) without gaining weight. I asked him about it once, and he said that he had actually lost weight. I felt like strangling him.

If I continue this way, I'm going to balloon so much more that I care to imagine. This is not healthy. I don't want to end up swallowing 7 laxative pills as a last resort.

I need help.