Fat Like Me…
May 2, 2011 Leave a comment
For the last few weeks, I have been dealing with the impending death of my cat Cletus, and as a result, I’ve been stress eating and have been too depressed to work out. To my dismay today, as I put on my favorite slacks for class I realized that not only did they not fit around my waist, they gave me camel toe!!! EEEK!
What worries me more is that I’m headed to Michigan on Wednesday, and I feel like I’m not going to fit any of the clothes I tried to pack. What I”m going to do for the next few days is a rigorous amount of exercising, and dieting, nothing too severe, just enough to bring me back from what I was last week.
For the majority of my life, I was always on the slim side, I could eat whatever I wanted, and not gain weight. I thought it was awesome, and ignored the signs that were glooming at me. For one, I noticed that on one side of the family, the women were trim, sometimes on the verge of skinny, while on the other, the women gained weight at the drop of a hat.
My problem with weight began when I was in high school. I was accepted into the Barbizon School of Modeling, and I was very pleased with myself, I worked out in Marching Band, and was an active high school-er, and fit into a trim size 2. While there, they kept telling me I was heavy, sure I had baby fat, but I always assumed that it would eventually taper off as I got older. I had some friends who criticized me for being a model and having tummy fat, and saying that I was too fat to model. My self-esteem at the time was so low, that I felt fat, and spent a year, trying to control the weight gain and loss I experienced through my disastrous food problem (or as I saw it).
When I got to college, I was walking everywhere, I was feeling fit, I worked out, and I still ate like a frat boy on payday, but then I was also drinking alcohol, and I still had my little tummy pooch as I called it. But being with my group of friends, they encouraged me to love myself for who I was, but when I would get home from school, my boyfriend’s mother and my mother would always point out the extra weight I had gained in college. While it was of no concern with me moving from a 5 at the end of high school to a 7 after my sophomore year in college, and supposed that on my ever-increasing hips, I come from a very hip oriented family.
By the time my senior year in college came, I was bordering on a size 10, my self-esteem was shot to hell, and I was looking for a reason to lose weight. I enrolled in a hip hop class, drove my car to school, but parked it from the furthest spot possible, and walked to the majority of my classes and took the stairs. That helped me move from a 10-ish back to a 9, but I needed to do more, what helped was that I was also working in a warehouse, and I was able to trim back about 10 pounds, and then I ended up working out after my hip hop class and that brought me back to a 7 for the rest of my senior year, even after I only had one class left the spring semester, I just worked out more, and ate better, mostly pastas, salads, lean beef and pork, more chicken, and yogurt, were all I could afford and it did wonders, my doctor told me I was in great health.
When I moved back home after college, I still stayed trim but most of that was from a serious depression, where I barely ate, couldn’t do anything but play video games and not much else, I stayed at a 7, and realized that it was more of out of my body shape, and not much else. I was happy in my size 7, and proceeded to work at an Adult Novelty Store, since it was the only job offered to me at the time. There, the fast food binge came, everyday for every meal (which would be two meals Breakfast and Lunch, or Lunch and Dinner). I met Donald at that time too, so I was happy again, and Donald and I started our eat outs, pizzas and such, and my weight slowly started to creep back up. I tried running, working out, and eat less, but the fact I was happy and that I could now easily get bored, I started eating in between meals, snacking, and drinking more and more Dr. Pepper, to the point I could possibly have a blood transfusion from Dr. Pepper alone. That and I love salt…absolutely love salt.
My self-esteem started to waver, I started to feel sorry for myself, and I tried everything I could to stop my overeating, and I was able to halt myself at a size 9. For about three years, I grew comfortable with my 9 status, and looked fit enough for people to not realize that I was a 9 anyway, I would rip tags off my clothes because the numbers would make me depressed, but I looked good and healthy, I was always a healthy person, even after starting Hobby Lobby, I stayed at a 9. It wasn’t until this past year that my weight began to surge into 10 status…double digits…it started to effect my style choices. Clothes that hit my tummy, long sweaters that hid my tummy, pants that cinched my tummy. I was a modern enough woman to realize that pant size wasn’t what made me feel loved, isn’t want made me feel accepted, but the more I looked at the double-digit number, the more I began to fear me becoming what I most dreaded…my cousins. They are in the size 18-20 areas and call me fat or go around behind my back and call me pregnant, because I could not get clothes fast enough to hide my ever-increasing pant size.
Out of fear, I went to the Gyno and got a pregnancy test, because weight increase like this, had to have been due to a pregnancy…no not pregnant. Then I thought, maybe I have a thyroid problem, so I get blood work done (without insurance btw) and no, no thyroid problems. I couldn’t figure out what this increase was, eating healthy was my mantra, and I reduced Dr. Pepper intake to once a day to fulfill my needs for caffeine addiction.
Most of this comes from the fact that I shouldn’t have my self-esteem based on how much I weighed, but I do. I feel at times I’m the most enlightened woman there is, and then I doubt that because I feel like my teeth are not white enough, I’m still breaking out like a teenager, or my weight is spiraling out of control. I shouldn’t have these vanity ideas as a reason behind me being self-conscious, but I am. I have taken measures to see this out, but my cat dying (which is no reason in and of itself) and stress about loosing my job due to budget cutbacks and put my self-esteem in a downward spiral, moving farther and farther into depression a dark place I never wanted to be back in.
Dreamers, have you ever felt the same way, that your size is a definition of who you are as a person. Have you ever felt that vanity reasons are reasons enough for you to hate yourself even more?
The self-obsessed Oracle of Dreams