i had a tweet running through my head for several days in a row, and i just never got around to tweeting it, so it’s become a blog post instead (i had a friend say she liked the outpouring of writing … i guess blogging’s back, baby. at least for now.). the tweet was going to say something to this effect: “i spend an enormous amount of time in my head thinking about my weight/how fat i am.”
and it’s the truth. i can’t help it. something’s happened. i know people can have all their theories, but i know something’s not quite right. i don’t sit around and eat a bunch of shit/ice cream/chocolate/chips whatever. yeah, i’m not miss salad when i go out, either, but i just don’t sit around and eat all day. and i’ve consistently gained weight over two years. i’d say 20 pounds a year.
yep, i’m getting older. you’d think, then, then it would have happened at 25 and at 30. 35’s the magical age? go fuck yourself. i know something’s wrong and no one will help me test my theories. but that’s another whole post (loyola, i’m looking at you). this post isn’t about why i’m fat, really. for right now, that’s just what it is. i’m now fat. i’m not slightly overweight or kind of on the high end of normal. i don’t know what happened. but it’s happened. and i’m crushed.
i think of weights that i used to be — 140, for instance. when that was the standard, the high point, the weight that i consistently hung out at and lamented, “if only i could lose 20 pounds to get back to 120.” and i laugh now. i need to lose about 40 pounds to get to that. how sad is that? that i’m wishing for 140. we can talk in sizes, if you want. i remember when i had fat pants that were 14, regulars that were 12 and my super skinnys were 10. and honestly, i’m fine with that. anyone who is a single size is slim, and that’s great, but the media is fucked if they tell you 12 is plus sized. that’s just horseshit.
but now? i don’t even fit in a 14. and saying that out loud makes me want to die. size L doesn’t really fit me in a lot of things. and i’m just like, what the fuck? this has happened over the last year or so, and again — i didn’t do anything to change it — it’s not like i started eating way different or stopped exercising. i know something’s up, but again. this is about the way i think about all of this and how people think of me.
then at 160, it was not great, but it’s not nearly as bad as it’s gotten — the inside of my head, that is. again, i leveled out there for awhile, so … i don’t know what’s changed, but i know that when i catch glimpses of myself in a mirror, i just cringe. i can’t believe people have to look at me and i wonder what they think — if they think i eat a ton or if they feel sorry for me or if they think i’m a fat, lazy, disgusting pig. i just hate it. i hate myself this way. it’s awful.
i hate that i can’t walk up stairs like i used to. i hate that i don’t fit into most things without feeling completely, hopelessly unsexy and terribly ugly. i hate that i just don’t think anyone — girl or guy — will ever find me attractive again. i have a decent face, i think, but even that is fat. let me be honest with you, i used to have smaller boobs, and i’d be FINE with those coming back if i could just get rid of this weight.
i have friends who are bigger, and i don’t think anything bad of them. it’s so weird, how i can love and accept people who are a certain way, but when it comes to it getting around my turn, i just can’t do it. i have some of the same friends who talk about ‘fat acceptance,’ and i get it as a concept, particularly as a feminist, but again, when it comes to me, i just can’t get my mind around it. and one of the things that fat acceptance talks about is not doing this thing … this thing that i am CONSTANTLY doing — all the time, and i don’t know how to stop. the thing where i’m going, “i’m fatter than him/her, at least i’m not as fat as her/him, i wonder if i’ll ever be able to get as skinny as her/him, i’m definitely not as fat as her/him, right?”
it’s terrible and awful and doesn’t help anyone or anything. i have noticed one thing that isn’t helping my cause, although people probably wouldn’t guess this is a huge part of the problem. i’m trying to track my food on this app on my phone. i don’t think i eat nearly enough, actually. besides the fact that i think my metabolism is completely out of whack, i’m not helping by not eating breakfast, and then sometimes not eating until 2, 3, 4 p.m. sometimes. it’s fucked. i’m not doing it on purpose as starvation or punishment. sometimes, that’s just what happens.
i know if i had a job things would definitely be different; i’d have a schedule and all of that. and i also think that there’s a part of me that is so bummed because 1. i used to be a skinny kid and a skinny teenager and a skinny young woman and even when 2. i thought i was getting fatter as a stoner, etc., i wasn’t near as fat as i probably thought i was and 3. i had no confidence in myself or my ability to be attractive or sexual or anything, and now that i have a little of that, i’m too fat to really make it count. i’m pissed.
so, i don’t know why i’m writing this. why do i write any of these blogs? to get it out of my head. to share what i’m thinking. to admit something, i guess. i’m walking around hating myself a lot lately. constantly, sometimes. i’m trying so hard not to. there’s a part of my brain that knows it’s not productive, it goes against my feminist beliefs, it’s not the kind of person i want to be, it’s not the way i want to treat myself. and then, i turn the corner or try on some clothes or catch sight of myself in a mirror or some photo and all i hear in my head is, “sigh. gee. i’m so fucking fat.”
so, that’s that. i’m working on it. i hope by admitting it out loud something will change.