I don't think I have ever paid a close attention to the link between my bloat episodes and the outwardly 'stable' and 'happy' life I led at the time. You know, the imagined bliss that supposedly comes with having found the love of your life, work/financial stability, having a car and sorted work/residency permit, all stable and balanced life. Soon as life is 'comfortable' and I have nothing to worry about, my body goes on a freaky strike and I have to dust out the size 12 denims and my tummy-concealer black tops! I jump from my usual size 8 to size 12 without a warning...Well, I get few month's notice but I am too slow to pick up the signs till the normally shy cashier lady at the supermarket 'compliments' me in a typical Mozambican style: "wow, you look so fat."...WTF!
Then I have to undo the damage caused by stability and comfort, and run myself to the ground again. My 6-steps-detox-from-happiness goes like this:
1 - break-up and move out
2 - drink like a fish till skin and hair get truely fucked up
3 - close down business or quit job
4 - work myself into a homelessness, no money, then sell the car and spend it all
5 - Skip 6 months visa stamps at the border and become illegal immigrant
6 - Socially withdraw, isolate myself and chop off hair.
Then magic happens, I fit perfectly into size 8, I feel more alive and content with life. I then turn around my life again and in 4 months, I have a place to live, a second business, my hair grows, I cut down alcohol and get into serious yoga.
There must be a less taxing way to feel and stay alive.