I have always ALWAYS struggled with my weight. I’ve been up, I’ve been down, I’ve been somewhere in between all my life. It’s not a fun thing. In fact, I daresay it’s an ASS thing. Part of it is my interests are all pretty sedentary. Writing, reading, video games – not the most athletic activities. I know some people like going outdoors but the day star terrifies me. Part of it is I just LIKE food. I like cooking. I enjoy a quality meal. The third part? I’m PCOS pos. I have a medical condition (and yes, fat haters are going to roll their eyes right now) that makes me insulin resistant. It makes gaining weight easy. It makes losing weight very, very difficult. Some girls with PCOS can’t eat anything over 1400 calories per day or they can’t maintain or lose. It’s a shitty thing.
As a fat girl/always potential fat girl, I’ve wrestled this whole body image thing for a long time. I’ve had bouts of time where I loathed myself enough to do stupid shit to lose weight. Years ago, I considered a surgery that I’m not convinced is all that good for the patients. At one point, I just stopped eating. Lost a lot of weight then, but man, that was unhealthy. At another point, I did carb free stuff and while it worked, I was pretty miserable. At no point did I establish a comfortable, happy relationship with food because the only things that seemed to work for me? Were extreme and left me drained. I looked great. I lived poorly.
Was it worth it?
The pendulum has also swung in the other direction where I had “good head days” and embraced my body. I embraced that I’d gone from “curvy” to “chubby” to “fat.” I said, “SCREW SOCIETY AND ALL ITS THIN-MINDED TRAPPINGS” and ranted and railed about the fat hate. I preached the fucking word, man, and told everyone that we’re all beautiful and it’s okay to like food as long as you’re taking care of yourself. And while I wasn’t really LYING — when those words came out of my mouth, I believed every single one of them — there was always this lurking beast of self-loathing just under the surface. My inner skinny chick was writhing. When I’m thin, I look good. Boys (and some girls) REALLY like me. Sure, I may be unhealthy as hell, but goddamn does everyone think I’m one hot little biscuit.
I ignored inner skinny chick and muddled on, trying not to personalize comments on the internet from people who’ve never been fat or dealt with being fat that suggested if I wasn’t such a waste of space and a drain on society, I’d run three miles every day. I’d stop eating and pretend Cheetohs never existed. Eventually, though, all the viscera would wear me down and I’d buy into my TERRIBLENESS and diet again. And the diet would work for a time. And the lifestyle change that came with it would be GREAT for a few months until it wasn’t and I’d fall off the dieting train and hate myself so much that I’d do some awful variation on binge eating. Vicious cycle. One I’m still in sometimes. Funny thing about it? If you think your self-loathing is huge just BEING fat? Try dieting and falling off the diet and going on a stress-eating binge. The self-loathing is thrice as bad then because YOU WERE DOING IT AND YOU JUST COULDN’T RESIST BEING A PIG. Headspace then is oh-so-pleasant.
Anyway, I’m in what I’d call a fat slump, I guess. I’m on a diet again. My doctor put me on a PCOS helper called Metformin that makes me super sick. I’m losing weight but only because I’m nauseous all day and night. Gee, great, but at least it’s working. I’m not AS insulin resistant as I was before! When I’m thin and beautiful (by society’s standards, at least) I’ll look back at the last year of my life and totally not regret feeling sick all the time, right?
Last night was a bad night in my fat girl world. I cried because I wasn’t yet where I wanted and needed to be with self-acceptance, with my weight. So to chill out, I watched episodes of How I Met Your Mother with a friend. The cosmos has a sense of humor, folks. Seriously. We were hanging out and doing our thing. I was feeling better. An episode comes on that shows Ted’s friends Googling Ted’s blind dates so they could text him mid-date to tell him “what’s wrong” with the girls he’s out with. Girl one dressed up cats in costumes. Girl two? Killed four of her husbands. Girl three? USED to be morbidly obese so they sent Ted a before picture. A moment later, they show his now-skinny date rushing out of a store with a huge tub of ice cream in her arms saying, “I’M SO GLAD YOU ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I REALLY AM.” Ted bailed on her.
So let me get this straight. The girl lost weight. She did it, and guys? It’s FUCKING HARD TO LOSE WEIGHT. But because she used to be a fatty, she will forever have fatty stain on her, and clearly, the ice cream indicates that even a fat person who’s lost the weight is just a swine waiting to happen again? Us fatties just can’t help ourselves? And all we do is sit around eating ice cream and thinking of ways to get fatter all the time?
What the ever-living SHIT?
I’m tired, guys. I’m tired and I’m unhappy. I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing now (if by supposed to be doing is losing weight), because I’m sick of fighting. I’m sick of having to justify my existence as WORTHY in this world based on a number on the scale. I’m growing jaded because I’m realizing it’s easier to change ME than it is to change other minds. I’m sick of being the girl with the beautiful face but, “it’s just too bad she’s heavy.” Some great people have said some great things about fat acceptance. Go find The Rotund and read up on all the ways you can learn to love yourself and the people around you regardless of size. Read this post. Read and, if you can be a little less exhausted than I am? Believe.
And you know, I will believe again. But not right now. Right now I’m buying into my self-loathing a while. And I’m venturing a guess that every fat girl everywhere that reads this post is going to know EXACTLY what I’m talking about. If they’re not where I’m at now? They were once. And God love ’em if they got their minds around their self worth. I’m still struggling with it.