Inventing Worry

Today I struggle with weight and what it should and should not mean to me.

To anyone. Perhaps.

I stare at the drugstore "cures" for what ails me, my body, which is absolutely nothing except what I think of it.

What weight it holds for me. In me.

On my shoulders.

I eat "good" food and I feel okay. I eat "bad" food and about the same.

I bought bathing suits for voluptuous women and it made me feel powerful.

I looked at Slimfast and it made me feel lost.

I didn't buy it. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. But hopefully not.

It's as if I want to will myself to be 20 again when everything seemed easier.

Maybe that is what this obsession is about. Youth? The past? The "before" of having children and all that comes with it?

Perhaps.

Is weight loss really about nostalgia? About a desire to travel back in time?

And what was so good about the skinny insecure 20-something looking for validation in every corner of life?

Why is her I want to return to?

Or is it about weight at all?

Perhaps if I am not worrying about something, I must invent it. Keep my mind occupied on nothingness because worry is comfort, habit, for one who has always worried.

Exhausting to always have to find something to fret about.

Exhausting that it has to be about something you are fundamentally doing wrong.

Exhausting that you are exhausting yourself just by being yourself.

Maybe it's not wrong to want some aspects of the carefree 20s back in your life.

But if I don't remember that I worried then, perhaps even more than now, am I not committing myself to the same and the same again until I am at the end of my life with no more to worry about but death?

Perhaps death comes to quickly to those of us who fret about Slimfast and the contours of their thighs and who don't wear their new swimsuits like the bosses they are.

Perhaps.