Tag Archives: fat

Weighted Long Enough

I see this sign, every time I drive North through Owasso. It’s for a weight loss clinic and it says “Weighted long enough?”. Well yes, I believe I have, but honestly, what am I capable of doing about it? I cannot afford (nor am I sure I want) weight loss surgery (which I believe is all that is ‘sold’ at a clinic). I’m not quite motivated enough to do it all the “safe” and “hard” way. I’m also rather terrified of loose skin, something that affects the majority of people who lose a lot of weight, even if they do so slowly and safely, while exercising to add muscle tone.

One friend of mine, from once upon a time, had weight loss surgery and recommended it to me. The method she recommended is a relatively new one, that involves cutting out part of the stomach to reduce the amount of food that can fit in it. I don’t know why she considered this safer than a lap-band, but it sounds scary as hell. I’ve had abdominal surgery before, to remove my gall bladder, and I wouldn’t choose to do it again unless I absolutely had to. It hurt like hell for a really long time, and I think that surgery is what really sparked my weight gain.

I think about my weight constantly, but it’s not always something I care about enough to want to change. My addiction to carbs is so overpowering most of the time, and the comfort derived from food is, well, comforting.

I realize that society as a whole completely devalues and objectifies overweight women. Both men and women are guilty of this. From a feeling of disgust or discomfort to an outright bad-person move (such as the one made by above friend, who took a photo of a woman walking in front of her and said “titties on her back”, a move I cannot understand given her own battle with weight).

I play World of Warcraft frequently, and in that game there is a social aspect that is often nauseating. The ‘World’ is full of immature males who feel ‘safe’ behind their character names, and who make incredibly frequent remarks about women (probably because they don’t have much exposure to them) and are especially abrasive towards ‘fat’ women, because “beached and bloated whales don’t count as girls”. Is it wrong of me to assume these ‘children’ don’t have very many feminine influences in their lives to feel and act this way towards women? Maybe. Maybe I’m a bit prejudiced, too. But it seems close enough to the truth to make it okay. How else can they think this way, if not by living in a space in which there are no women, or the only women in their lives are ignorant of their abusive beliefs (ahem, coddled-mommy’s-little-boy syndrome).

In my day-to-day life, on the days that I venture out of my home, I feel perpetually ashamed of myself for my appearance. I’m on-edge about so much. I don’t usually wear makeup or ‘do’ my hair. I tell myself I just don’t care, but part of it is a feeling of hiding, anonymity. I’m hiding in this fat suit, and hoping you just won’t notice me at all.

There’s so much more about this I want to write, but I think I need to call it quits. Call it fear, exhaustion, or sheer laziness, but I think I should bid this post adieu.

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Modestly Vain

I’m so fucked up.

If you met me in person you wouldn’t know me.  If you knew me in real life you wouldn’t like me.

Who could?

For some reason he sticks around, but really, why?

Everything is all about me, no matter what.

I’m vain in a “well I used to look like this” sort of way.  I’m continually disheveled yet …

Modesty.  I’m all about modesty now.  I have this fear of being “found out” – ugly, fat, queer, liberal.  So I shift my blouse back on my shoulders, covering up any potential cleavage.  “There, now I’m straight.”  You can’t see my skin and tear it apart.  It’s sensitive, much like the sinew and bloody mess it’s attached to.

I was constantly berated and degraded in school, and now those ghostly demons live on in my mind.
“She’s so…”

Back then I was too skinny.  I had bruises on my back from my spine rubbing against my skin.  I was still healthy, though.  I ate whatever I wanted.  I was able to lose myself in books and nature, in a way that I can’t anymore.  It all changed somewhere around year twelve or thirteen.  That’s when my innocence was lost, and that’s when I was first clinically diagnosed.

The sassier side arises later, around sixteen, when I am hospitalized for being a rebellious youth.

I envy myself.  That girl.  She was perfect.  [“Look what you’ve done, you fucking bitch.”]  I ‘could have had it all’…  ::song plays briefly in head::

I’ve had so many opportunities to reach my own personal nirvana.  Perhaps that’s why I’ve tried to kill myself so many times, an attempt to end it at the highest points.  I wonder now if I’ll ever become famous, ever be able to write again, to be myself again, or even, just to laugh again.

There’s so much in here, if I could just string it out, lace it into letters, felt it into words.

I make stuff, ya know.  No lace, or felt, not yet anyway, but I’m not far away from learning how to tat.  Macrame is both soothing and frustrating.  I even sell stuff sometimes.  It makes me feel a little bit better about myself.

I guess that’s it for now.  Cats happened.