So I love to eat.
So my health isn’t exactly in tip top shape.
Partly because of my PCOS condition, partly because of my diet (a big part, I’d admit), partly because of my sedentary lifestyle, late nights and the occasional booze… I have a crappy health report card.
I am also quite plump. In BMI terms I am in the obese camp. In photos I look bloated and unpretty. Yes, I am a short and fat and whiney person.
So to be responsible to myself and especially my health, I should want to aim to lead a healthier lifestyle isn’t it? For the sake of my future health conditions, I should try to slow down or even reverse the negative impact I have wrought upon my body.
But you know… I actually cried when I was told my triglyceride levels were high (Latest Update: the levels are still high) and I am to cut down carbs if I want my condition to improve. Even for PCOS they tell you to cut down on frigging carbs to better manage the condition.
Asking me to stop eating yummy food is something that depresses me. I love food more than the average foodie. I rather die young, eating the stuff I want… than to munch on cardboard… and die old and senile in an old folks’ home.
It’s irresponsible of me to want to abandon all attempt to become healthy. It’s in my genes already. Diabetes, colorectal cancer, high blood pressure, etc etc etc. I am almost 80% likely to get one of the following. Or all.
Yes yes… if I keep a healthy lifestyle I could cut down the possibilities, but unless that possibility is ZERO. It’s still not a life that I want to live.
No way I am going to calorie-count. No way I am going keto. No way I am popping pills. No way no way no way. I am just not motivated to do anything anymore.
I want to die young. Why would I want to live to a ripe old age where I’ll need someone to change my diapers for me while I gnaw on my dentures?
What I want, is quality of life. Quantity doesn’t matter.
I want to live an exciting, fun-filled life full of food, friends, love, learning, travelling, dreaming, eating, drinking and doing whatever the hell I want.
Then I will die a painful, horrible death at the age of 50, perhaps. I want to be someone to have lived, for real. Not to have starved. Not to have calorie count my way to a miserable kale-munching existence. Screw celery. That shit is nasty.
So how about my husband? I talked about growing old with him. But you know, I am actually quite a dark, mopey person in private. Not many people know this about me, and even if they do… they’d just think I’m being melodramatic.
I am tired of life, that is why I want to live it to the fullest. Ironic? Yes, I want to live it well and be done with it real quick. Who gives a crap about golden years. The golden years, in my not so humble opinion… lies in youth. Once my youth expires, then it’s time to say goodbye.
I would like the world to miss me. To miss my ducky-quacky nasal whining. To miss my awfully lame jokes. To miss my presence… and to remember me, as a girl who loved traveling, food, cats, music videos, movies, books, the colour red… who has a pretty bleak view of life. Despite all that silliness and goofiness.
I’m tired. Of explaining myself.
ADDENDUM: I actually am one of those who support voluntary euthanasia and assisted suicide. Dear Singapore, please make it a choice for us who wants to depart this world with dignity. Not every suicidal person wants to die a messy death. It’s not something to joke about. I want to choose how I die, you know. Pfft.