Man, it’s been dark in here.
This is one suckfest I would NOT want to do over. Fuck that. So much has happened over the last 8 months; sometimes I’m amazed that I’ve maintained my sanity. But sometimes staying sane comes with a heavy price when you have a terrible coping mechanism.
Food.
Yeah. Like Oprah says, I’m an emotional eater. Most people tell me when they fall into the deep bottomless pit of depression they lose all desire to eat. What the fuck? Why didn’t that little piece of excellence get hardwired into MY depression? Huh? Totally unfair, man. And not cool. At all.
I have no vices. I don’t smoke, I drink maybe once a year, and I have no one willing to let me punch them in the face on a daily basis to help my anger issue. What’s up with that? There must be someone with a pain fetish that could help me out. Anyway…I had no outlet for the overwhelming grief that I was battling. My best friend walked away, her method of tough love was taken way too far. So, I was left here dealing with the world that had caved in around me.
As much as I hate drug addiction and have never been able to understand why people refuse to get help, I totally relate to the need to numb out. How was I supposed to deal with the two people who knew me best and had promised to love me no matter what abandoning me? Feeling like I was forgettable and easy to walk away from crushed me. The sadness was crippling. The anger that my dreams were stolen out from under me. The unbearable frustration that his last words were “I love you, baby..I’ll call you tomorrow” and then he vanished, refusing to speak to me.
Silence. For eight months now. Do you have any idea what that’s like?
No closure. No explanations. No I’m sorry.
Just silence. Like I never existed.
I couldn’t handle the hurt. I was a fucking trainwreck. So, I did what I could to numb out. And that, my friends, has come with a cost.
During my hibernation, I delved into some pretty heavy soul searching. My close girlfriends and I brought all the skeletons out of the closet. It was painful. Fucking downright brutal. But dealing with all my shit…truly owning it…has made a world of difference.
Mentally I am so much stronger. But physically? Man, it ain’t so pretty.
I used to be thin in high school. Looking back at photos I wonder why I wasn’t naked all day long! I should have been! But I was sooo insecure. So unsure of myself. Even when I finally was brave enough to don a bikini on my rockin’ bod, I covered myself up with a t-shirt.
Insanity. I would kill someone to look like that again.
Over the years I have yo yo’d with my weight. Lose a pile, gain it back. Lose more, gain more. It’s an awful way to live your life. Always ashamed of your body. Ashamed that you aren’t strong enough to be thin like your girlfriends are. You know you’re pathetic and weak. You can’t even find the willpower to stay in shape. The shame is so deep and profound that it begins to affect every aspect of your life.
Then you know what happens? It becomes a dirty little secret.
You stop going out. You turn down invitations with friends because you don’t have the self confidence to show your true self to them. It’s so fucking easy to hide behind the computer.
“You’re so beautiful!”
I get that a lot. And as much as I appreciate the heartfelt words, all I think to myself is this…
“They only say that because they can’t see the rest of me.”
How bad is that?!
I hate feeling this way. Having self confidence and faith in yourself is hard when you feel like a failure. How can you truly love yourself when you hate your body? The image I have of myself in my head comes to a screeching halt when I walk past a mirror. It’s like my body betrayed me.
Weight is about walls. The reasons for each wall varies from person to person. I know what mine were built for. To keep out the hurt that love has caused me every single time. But now I’ve ended up hurting myself. That’s not what I wanted. Ugh.
Let me clarify. I’m not a whale. But I’m unhappy with everything between my knees and boobs. I’m not talking about the girls who bend over and squeeze a little wrinkle of skin together and whine about their “roll”. Really? Fucking stop it I can’t tell you how much I hate that nonsense. And don’t give me the whole “whether its 5lbs or 50lbs, it’s all the same when you feel uncomfortable and want to lose it.”
Spare me the bullshit. It’s not the same. Not even close.
Don’t say that to a girl who is fighting a war against herself. Just don’t.
I don’t want to be skinny again. That is unrealistic for me. I can’t maintain what it takes to stay that way. I like to eat and I despise battling a number on the scale. Women who always know what they weigh freak me out. That’s not living either. Sure, you may look hot, but always depriving yourself would suck. I admire women who sculpt their bodies. That shit is hardcore. That takes a drive inside you that I can’t begin to fathom. Yep your abs look awesome but I’ll take a pass on having to work that hard.
I’m not lazy. That’s one judgment I hate.
People sometimes think overweight people just need to put down the junk food and get off their ass. True, BUT, there is so much more to it than that. There are chemicals in your brain fucking with you, there is addiction, and there is the emotional aspect. It’s not always about weakness or laziness. It’s about rewiring shit in your head…that is the hard part.
And addicts have a luxury that we don’t. Once you quit drugs, you never have to see it again. Food?? Not so much.
Anyway, my point was, I don’t want to be a waif. I happen to love my curves, I love my DDs, I love that men find that sexy. But where I am now? I’ve lost that feeling. I have been beating myself up so much its ridiculous. And what does that do? It makes the cycle start all over again. Depressed…eat…feel disgusted with myself for caving AGAIN…get depressed…eat.
Stop the ride, dude, I want to get off.
But it’s not healthy to keep comparing myself to my thin, fit girlfriends. That won’t get me where I need to be. I know I can lose the weight but hating myself and feeling undesirable and fat is completely defeatist. So I have been searching for some role models to keep me grounded in reality. Women who are overweight yet smokin’ hot. How can I say that beauty comes in all sizes when I loathe myself for not being the right size?
Mia Tyler, Justine Legault, Kate Dillon, Denise Bidot, Fluvia Lucerda, Charlotte Coyle.…
Gorgeous, sexy women who embrace their bodies and love themselves. They are plus size models that, in my opinion, are hot as hell. I aspire to exude that kind of self confidence. I want to be able to look at myself as I am today, right now, extra weight and all…and still feel like I’m beautiful and sexy.
I’m not looking to be small. Just back to the girl I was when I was comfortable enough to take full body self portraits and KNOW that I was hot, even with a tummy.
The trick here will be learning to love my body as it is but not enough so that I remain unhappy. I want to be healthy and for that, some weight needs to go. But the health thing is such a small part…I just want to look hot when I’m naked.
Vanity. Plain and simple. And what’s wrong with that? Nothing, dammit!
I want to look in the mirror and love the girl I see. I want to accept all of her, see the beauty in her curves that are a bit too ample. I want to truly see her and love her without reservation. That is the only way the light will shine through and start healing me. The way I see it, the only way to reach my weight loss goal is to stop hating myself because that just leads straight back into the spiral.
Maybe my being brave enough to say it all out loud is the first step. Now you all know the truth I live with everyday. Maybe now that it’s out there, I’ll shed the coping mechanism that got me here. I’m not without gratitude, but it needs to go.
And hey…if Tommy Lee aka my husband says “big girls are the hottest, craziest fucks ever. They are a screaming, fucking crazy hot, big yummy time!” then who am I to argue? ;-)
