So here it is another blog. Another candid display of my emotions on a piece of paper or should I say, computer screen.
Weight has forever been an issue. I don’t quite recall when it first began, but it seemed that weight has always been a “point to mention” in my life.
Coming from a skinny family who think appearances mean more than personality, it has always been a constant battle inside my mind. What I wore, how I looked, if I was “in style” was always a topic of conversation at my house. Looking less than stellar was unacceptable.
Dieting is a constant in my family. You name it, Tops, Weight Watchers, the latest diet pill, the new top of the line programs; the funny thing was that I was the only one who was obese or even remotely overweight. My family seem to be obsessed with weight, when none of them even had a weight problem.
As a teenager, I rebelled. Mind you, at the tender age of 14, I wasn’t even fat. I had maybe an extra 20 pounds on me, nothing major. I didn’t want to do my hair like in the magazines, I didn’t want to wear what was in “style”, I wanted piercing and tattoos. Now that I look back on it, inside what I truly wanted was to fit in. I wanted to be prima ballerina but I felt like I didn’t fit the template so I just did the opposite of what everyone wanted.
Why did I become morbidly obese? (Hate that term btw). Parts of me points the finger at my family (as you can see above), another part blames anti depressants (after all I began Paxil at 16 and gained 100 pounds in a year), but really, I think that I was to blame.
Instead of becoming an alcoholic or a drug addict, I became a food addict. It was more socially acceptable (but not exactly) and easily accessible that alcohol or drugs.
The more I gained weight, the more I lost who I was. I recall a moment, at my high school graduation, where I looked in the mirror and I didn’t recognize myself. I didn’t have a date for prom, my dress was awful, my tits were hanging, and my hair was a disaster. Appearances no longer mattered to me at all.
Boys just didn’t like me. I was fat, disgusting, not worthy of their presence. It was funny because when I was small, boys chased me by the dozen but after I got fat, no dice. So I did what every fat person does and became the “Best Friend” aka “Fat Funny Girl”.
I was extremely depressed. No words can express how my late teens and early twenties were spent because all I did was play this fake show for everyone. I was miserable. The guy I liked, who was my best friend at the time, just “didn’t see me that way” (so in other words, you’re great, if you weren’t fat, we’d be together but you’re fat). The truth was I couldn’t really blame him because I, myself was not attracted to fat people so how I can judge him for that?
Long story short, something in my mind kicked into gear when I was 22. I didn’t want to be fat girl anymore. It sucked. It wasn’t who I wanted to be. Somehow, I picked myself off the ground. I lost 60 pounds. I was at a comfortable weight. I felt and looked great. I got myself back. Somehow I had found myself and I swore to myself “I will never get fat again”.
During this period, I was dating quite a bit. All of sudden, all my guy “friends” had fallen for me and we’re buying me gifts. It was bittersweet because it showed me the true nature of people, and how being fat truly affects the way people see you. Those friends thrown out to the curb, I met Matt.
Matt is not a fat person. Matt will never be a fat person, but he is the most considerate, non shallow person I have met in my entire life. I was frank with him and told him that I was fat in the past, and that it was a battle for me. He swore that he would be with me no matter how fat I got should I ever get fat again...
Well, he meant it.
To be continued…
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