It's NEDAW, Y'ALL!

NEDAW.

I would like to start off by saying that I am not writing this post to poke fun at anybody who currently has or has ever had an eating disorder. Unless it's Victoria Beckham, aka "Posh Spice," for the simple fact that by keeping herself emaciated she's perpetuating a very unhealthy lie.

Nobody on this planet possessing even a half ounce of common sense would ever believe she is a healthy individual. Her hair is short because it has gotten so thin, it's falling out and cannot support her extensions. She has fake boobs to make her boyish body appear more feminine and she tans to have a healthy "glow." But young girls and teens and even adult females believe it.

Don't think that when it hit the gossip rags that she subsists mainly on edamame and diet coke that there wasn't a run on those very things at grocery stores all across America. I feel bad for those girls/women. The GAS they must have had!

How that woman ever successfully conceived not one but three healthy children is beyond my comprehension. David Beckham must have SCUD sperm.

Anyhoo.

I have decided that I would celebrate NEDAW by going into rehab. Everybody's in rehab these days, and I just figured I'd try it out, you know... see how it goes. Every time somebody effs up, they go into rehab, and then somehow it's OK that they just insulted an entire race/sexual orientation/religion/your mom.

I'm checking in tonight, see, because I've had a bit of a relapse. It took a while for me to accept it; that this was actually a recurring thing and that it would require vigilance for pretty much my entire life. I'd thought I'd beaten it, but no.

Once a fattie, always a fattie!

I am addicted to FOOD, my friends. I love it all. It is all yummy.

When I lived in New York, it was easy for me to adhere to my strict No Sugar/No Refined Carbs dietary dogma. I was very physical in my daily life and hit the gym no less than 3-4 times a week. Then again, I also had no life.

Then I moved to Los Angeles, lost the automatic, daily calorie burn consequential to life as a full-time pedestrian and lost the motivation to keep up my workout routine.

Who the hell knows why? I could probably come up with a billion reasons, but none of them can justify or even change the fact that I'm currently hauling around 15 pounds of muffin top that WILL NOT GO AWAY NO MATTER HOW MUCH I WILL IT TO.

The Force, my friends, is not applicable to weightloss. That's just an FYI.

I've tried to once again adopt the eating habits that found me 95 pounds under my top weight, but I'm finding it hard to focus. My inner calorie counter has conveniently gone rusty. It's like it just stopped working as soon as I moved to Los Angeles. The ticker went off.

I used to be able to count up my daily caloric consumption with alarming accuracy. I knew the values of everything I consumed and I kept it around 2200 calories a day once I'd reached my goal weight.

And, contrary to what some people might think, I never consumed less than 1500 calories a day. I'm too large and require too much energy just to move myself around to ever entertain the thought of something so restrictive as a 1200 calories a day diet. It just wouldn't work. I'd pass out.

I picked up other great habits while losing weight that I've also seemed to forget, like stopping eating when I feel the first signs of fullness, drinking LOTS of water, and opting for fruits and veggies over refined carbs or fried food.

OK, I have to interrupt myself right now to say that admitting all this in a public forum is very hard for me. For so long, as I was losing weight and also maintaining my goal weight, which I did for almost a year, I was a winner! I had finally overcome. I was always met with positive reactions to my success. I feel like a big failure now. I see myself slipping into old habits that make me sad and a little depressed.

I'm not talking about eating habits, I'm talking about situations where I avoid people and opportunities because I don't necessarily feel good about myself, so I'd rather just avoid it all together and end up missing out on things. Welcome to the first 27 years of my life.

That's Old Skool Danielle. I'm sure you all remember Old Skool Danielle. She was very unhappy. And also very fat. That bitch was funny, though!

I worry about posting this. I worry that some people will revel in my failure and if you're reading this and you are one of those low, petty people who actually find joy in someone else's unhappiness, then FUCK YOU)(AND! I HOPE YOU GET SYPHILIS!). I worry that I'll write this and STILL not be able to get my act together. I worry that I worry about all that!

But most of all, I worry that I will never truly be happy with myself physically. For now, at least, I can work on getting back to being comfortable in my own skin, which, not surprisingly, is closely tied to being comfortable in my favorite jeans.

Thankfully, for me, that goal is "only" 15 pounds away. I'm no longer dreading a massive weight loss, like before, and I am still very proud of that. However, I cannot distinguish between being 15 pounds overweight and being 80 pounds overweight. I feel now like I felt when I had 95 pounds to lose. So, it's time to do something about it.

Into rehab I go. My rehab is called Weight Watchers and L.A. Fitness and I'm simultaneously dreading it and looking forward to it. I guess I've accepted that this will probably be something I have to do my entire life.

But, you know. I did it once. I'll do it again.