The word “diet” conjures up hope for many of us, but an actual diet, in and of itself, is equivalent to a dodgy salesman: in a white suit and a leopard-print tie, he sells you candy-flavored water that he promises as a magic cure.
Unfortunately, the magic cure doesn’t exist […sigh].
I spent so many years following diets. When I was in eating disorder behavior (full disclosure here), I relied on a new diet to start the recovery process over.
Dieting and finding the perfect diet was my life. And I chose each diet in the hope that it would be the end to all diets.
As I binged, I had the diet, and the shopping list for it, open to the pages of the magazine or my journal (with additional notes and amendments to the new diet in question; often I needed to be a certain size at a certain time, so edits were required). I glanced at the pages with hope as I shoveled food in my mouth.
For the first couple of days, maybe even six days (oh, who am I kidding, three if I was super lucky or dating someone), the diet seemed hopeful. Actually, the diet felt like it was the only hope I had. Click here to read the full article