Good Morning, Sunshines. Let’s Talk About My Ass.
October 14th, 2006 by Kevin
I’ve been up since three.
One fun thing about this cardiac drug is that sleep has become optional.
Today I plan to assemble a Halloween costume. The J-Man is going as a mummy, so I’m going to cut a king-sized white sheet into strips and sew it to a black sweatsuit and ski mask (assuming I can find a child-sized black ski mask and that they are not only sold in adult sizes at Bank Robbers ‘R’ Us), which hopefully will look freaky and somewhat authentic.
I am going as an Ihavenofuckingidea, but since we are attending a costume party I am expected to pull something out of my ass within the next couple of weeks.
The J-Man has suggested Wonder Woman. I told him that the only chance I’m getting into low-cut leotards is if he shoots me up with Thorazine.
I do have some really kick-ass red boots, though, so I did consider it for a moment. If I could construct a kinder, gentler Wonder Woman costume, then maybe. Wonder Woman in a red flannel shirt and jeans, perhaps? Lynda Carter would probably not approve, but then Lynda Carter didn’t have a vertical-C-section-ravaged stomach and pasty white skin, either, now did she?
I hate being one of those tedious women who bitches about her body. I catch myself doing it ten times a day, I feel the stupid, trite words coming out of my mouth like verbal diarrhea and I just cannot stop myself - “Oh my God, my ass is so huge.”
And really, my ass is far less huge than it was. I’m of a perfectly normal weight for my height: five eleven, one hundred and sixty pounds. I no longer wear plus-sized clothing like I was for a while, and I’ve even had to buy new clothes because pre-pre-pregnancy clothes are too big; but still the annoying little Valley Girl sits on my shoulder and rolls her eyes - “Ohmigod, you’re so fat.”
I know better than most that fat can be a state of mind and that even if I weighed 108 pounds I would probably still feel wide in the brain (insane in the membrane, ha), but this knowledge does absolutely nothing to help curb my inner monologue of self-flagellation.
I become inexplicably annoyed when I listen to other women do exactly this same thing.
“I’m so fucking fat.”
“My thighs are huge.”
“I look like a walrus.”
Some of them are big and some of them are small, but either way, nobody wants to listen to their litany of I suck.
Because if you are fat, the general consensus is Do something about it, and if you are not, it’s shut the fuck up.
It sounds harsh, but tell me you don’t feel the same way on some level, at least.
I generally become uncomfortable when asked about my weight because I know that if pressed, something in me will burst - I will have a diet aneurysm and I will go on and on and on and on, yammering about fat and carbs and calories and exercise and keeping journals and so much shit that means so little to anyone but me.
I will become, essentially, the worst sort of social tool.
The is where my father becomes extremely useful, because he also can talk about such shit for days on end. Get us together and we can blather on about workouts and calories and food for a week straight, making us the most boring (obsessed) people ever.
It never seems to end for me, though. I have lived at every single point on the spectrum: normal, obese, grossly underweight, you name it - over one hundred and fifty pounds difference in all; and there has always been an obsession to match. When I’ve been fat, I’ve either been frantically trying to lose weight or I’ve been eating myself comatose.
While normal or thin, it’s always been a manic dance trying to maintain wherever I’m at due to a grossly fucked-up metabolism thanks to years of bad food behavior and lots of medication.
While underweight, all bets have been off, and I have participated in behavior that I am ashamed to admit even now, years later. I have done things that I will probably never understand.
Even now, if I don’t schedule times to eat, I won’t, or I will eat the day’s food in one fell swoop. Normal eating still does not come normally. It has to be plotted and planned and jotted down in black and white. If I am not at home I am terribly nervous and generally do not make good decisions about what to eat.
A sandwich is never just a sandwich.
My ass is never just my ass.
I am aware of my body and what goes into it every single second of every day.
I suppose if I had a current goal, it would be this: to not think about it. To just eat and shit and shop and put on clothes like a normal person, and just not think about it.
I’m a lot closer to that than I used to be, but I suppose I’m still pretty far from what I’d call normal.
I have argued that there is no point of stasis for the eating-disordered, that there is no normal food behavior or way of thinking for us once we have become entrenched in the mess - that since it is an addiction it is forever, but that we are stuck with it a little harder than most addicts, since we can not avoid our drug entirely like drug addicts or alcoholics can.
You can’t go cold turkey off of food. I wish it was possible. If you could take a pill instead of eating, I’d do it in a second. It would save me a hell of a lot of stress.
I have always maintained that the best we can hope for is some sort of compromise with our bodies - look, I won’t kill you, but don’t expect me to actually eat meat (or eat three squares, or eat fat, or eat carbs, or eat more than once a day).
Maybe I’m not being very optimistic, but I still don’t think I’m that far off.
I do know that I’m happiest when I’m following a set schedule, a plan, and sticking to it religiously. When I feel like I’m in control, I feel safe and as if everything is going well. Those are small ass days, I suppose you could say.
I feel shallow when I talk about this anymore, which I why I so rarely do. It seems so stupid to be bitching about a thing like food or my body when I have far more serious health problems to deal with, but this is the thing that has followed me from childhood - this is the thing that just never goes away.
Sometimes I just need to vent, I guess.
Or I could be honest and say that I weighed myself this morning and had a full-on fucking hissy fit, just like a goddamn toddler, when I saw that I’d gained two pounds, and I was so ashamed of myself that I could hardly breathe.
I hate that person. I want to shake her and tell her to get a fucking life.
I don’t ever expect to have a perfect body image or a perfect attitude toward weight or food, but somewhere a little more toward normal would be nice.
Happy Weekend.
LA wrote on 10/14/06 at 7:08 am :
You must be a box kite, I’ve got 40 pounds on you and I’m a 12. If I lost another 40 I’d be a pipe cleaner with tits. In any case, dear heart, everybody’s got their demons to wrestle and yours are no weirder than anyone else’s, if that’s any help. ~LA
Nikki wrote on 10/14/06 at 8:17 am :
Hey! I did Trevor up as a mummy a couple years ago and I have a tip: once you’ve sliced and diced that sheet into strips, boil them on the stove in a big ole pot of plain old tea. It gives them that moldy oldy brown look, like they’ve been lying wrapped up on a body in some icky sarcophagus for years. I used gauze and did the same thing and they turned out awesomely brown and aged. Beware hot glue, if you use it. I ended up looking like I’d grown some sort of skin disorder, with all the little blisters from contact with it! If you attach them separately to the shirt and pants, he’ll be able to just slide them on like normal. Just allow for a little overlap to cover the waistband of the pants.
Looking forward to pics
Pam wrote on 10/14/06 at 3:02 pm :
I totally know where you’re coming from, Jen. I think I’ve said this before, but oh well. I have an addiction to food. I used to weigh 276lbs at my heaviest (I’m 5′9″). I had to completely reboot my relationship with food, which involved simply not eating for about a month (I subsisted on diet coke, coffee and cigarettes). I now weigh 181lbs and my relationship with food has changed somewhat, but I could still eat an entire day’s worth of food in one sitting. It’s hard.
dataslave wrote on 10/14/06 at 5:01 pm :
Jen- are you sure you’re not one of my ex’es? I don’t remember you, but I have heard all of these lines over and over and over, by the round and not-so-round, tall and not-so-tall, etc.
One tries to listen attentively, really, but what can a guy do?
Nothing I said had any effect, and I knew it. It’s something that’s deeper than my feeble words (unless the following exchange happens- then I’m in deep shit- She-”I’m a cow.” Me-(facetiously)”Yes, you’re a cow” She-”Fuck you, how could you say that to me?” Cue tears, recriminations and self-loathing on both sides- welcome to the fun house.)
Please do not take this as bashing, because some guys know how miserable this thought process makes you all, and I, for one, wish I knew better how to help.
Kungfukitten wrote on 10/14/06 at 6:58 pm :
I swear I could just cut and paste that entry into my own diary. I have never had an eating disorder but I’m just as obsessed about food and what I eat and when. I can’t stand being weighed in front of anyone. It drives me crazy. If I could strip down to my underwear at the doctor’s office and be weighed, I would (their scale is in the hallway so they don’t let me). And like you, I want to throttle that girl. Oy. Do you think we’re going to be like this when we’re eighty?
Elle wrote on 10/14/06 at 10:38 pm :
Jen, I wish I had some magic words for you because I know how sucky this feels. Our relationship with food takes years to develop, so no wonder it takes time to change. When we don’t know how to recognize real hunger, we end up eating for other reasons. (I’m sure I am not telling you anything you don’t know, but sometimes it helps to be reminded.)
For me, dieting is the worst way for me to lose weight because as I concentrate on what I eat, I think about food all the time. And not to dump more shit on you, but yeah, listening to someone who is obsessing over weight and food can be a downer. All I can say is Live Life. Eat Normal. Weight is just a number and not only are clothing sizes random, but once again, just numbers. Wear clothes that fit well and are comfortable.
Also remember that while a lot of the things in your life are beyond your control, how and what you eat IS under your control. So, if printing out a list of what you should eat, what you will eat, when you will eat, and then jotting it down when you do eat makes you feel better - do it. It gives you a way to feel secure and there is nothing wrong with that.
I don’t know how much you can move without pain, but if you can just move and enjoy the feeling of that, your body will feel more comfortable. At least that is my experience. When I gain weight, suddenly I feel like I don’t fit in my space anymore. I bump into the edge of doorways and my ass bangs into things. It is crazy and infuriating. So, I put on music and just let my body move like it wants to. I become more aware of the space I occupy and no longer feel like a dually trying to fit in a Geo space.
Just one tip about the doctor’s office. If you must be weighed, but you really don’t want to know the number, step on the scale backwards and ask the nurse not to say the number out loud. Or you can refuse to be weighed, but in your case, I think they would want to keep an eye on things because weight loss or gain can indicate some serious problems.
Okay, that is my know-it-all response, but seriously, know that I envy not only your intelligence, humor and writing ability, but I love your pale skin, red hair and incredible eyes. No matter what you weigh, you will always be gorgeous, fun and creative. Who cares what size you wear?
Elle wrote on 10/14/06 at 10:39 pm :
Sorry. Guess I am sleep-writing. That is a long-ass response. Hope it makes some sense!
mish wrote on 10/15/06 at 6:21 am :
i want my costume for halloween to be superwoman also, but it is really only an excuse to buy these awesome red boots i know i would never wear. About the ass, wonderwoman could wear a cape! my very pretty friend at work did this so people would not be staring at her ass all night long.
J wrote on 10/15/06 at 10:56 pm :
I can’t stand being weighed when I go to the doctor’s. I hated it when I was underweight, I hate it when I manage to maintain healthy weight, and I hate it now that I have a few extra pounds thanks to quitting smoking (over a year and counting!). I always feel so ashamed that someone else is seeing the scale and WRITING DOWN my weight. I will cringe for a whole day at the thought of my weight being written down, for goodness sakes’, and put in my medical record.
My weight is on my mind every minute of the day, always in the background of everything else going on. I eat a healthy diet and stay away from the sweets and fast food, but I still have that battle that rages in my mind. There are days when my mind just screams at me for eating food, regardless of how healthy and how good for me it is. There are times when I do give in and have a little treat, because it can be good for the soul. But, I “punish” myself afterwards.
I am tired of feeling guilty and fighting with myself for doing something that was meant to keep me alive; something that everyone does and everyone needs to do.
I’ve been this way since childhood, as well, and I don’t understand it at all. I have had my struggles with disorderd eating in the past, so I understand those old ghosts. I am probably 10 pounds over my normal weight, which isn’t that horrible, but I am often tempted to go back to hold “habits” - believing that I would finally love myself more and others would love me more if I were thinner, prettier and more “perfect”. I think perhaps I have excess baggage that goes well beyond the physical! I feel so pathetic being in my 30’s and knowing that I should know better, grow up and get over it already. But, you’re right, it’s always there and will always be there.
I also think women have been so brainwashed that we don’t even realize it.
I just exploded all over your comments, but you touched a nerve. A big, ugly nerve.
Zena wrote on 10/16/06 at 4:48 am :
hey jen……look ulimately your blog is about sharing your life and unfortunately eating disorders are a part of your life, so don’t feel stupid or shallow about posting issues that millions of other people can relate to and that make them feel less lonely.
i’ve had an eating disorder for years but i’ve been in recovery for 2 years and it’s THE BEST. THE FUCKING BEST. i love it, i love every second of it, the sweetest liberation that you could ever hope for and more. i disagree with you that once eating disordered you can never be normal again. you can be anything if you’re desperate enough.
2 years ago, hunched over the bathtub, jamming my sticky, puke-covered fingers down my rasping, itchy throat trying to wretch and heave and choke up my last binge-fest i decided that enough was enough. of course i knew the thoughts would persist: “you’re fat, puke, starve, binge, you’re fat, puke, starve, binge…” but what i did go cold turkey on was all the BEHAVIORS….. i simply stopped puking, stopped starving, stopped bingeing….i ate when i felt like it, and sometimes i ate too much but unless you’re bulimic its very hard to keep eating because you’re so repleted after overeating even a little. i did this despite fears i would morph into Obesesis…..day after day i occupied myself with life, the things that matter to me, and i stopped seeing food as some sinfully decadent substance and started to see it as a source of energy, and a delicious one at that.
it IS hard, it IS alot of hard work…..but when you do begin to establish a normal eating pattern whereby you simply eat when you are hungry and stop when you’re satisfied, my god……the reward is a) freedom from the tedious, boring, brain-rotting, soul-destroying preoccupation with food and weight, and b) the ability to trust yourself, your body, your appetite and understand that it is okay to eat and it is okay to enjoy food and that all foods are okay its only neurosis and obsession that generates ill health.
and i haven’t morphed into Obesesis, as my eating disordered alter-ego had me believe. i’m steady at my normal weight, i wear clothes that flatter my body and i exercise and i exercise if i want to feel more tight and toned. i don’t give food a second thought- i eat whatever my body feels like not what some diet book dictates. how outlandish is THAT? LISTENING TO YOUR BODY? WooOOOO!
and remember people: don’t envy that thin girl- because if you’ve ever been anorexic you know that you’re so miserable and fucked-up and food obsessed that being unnaturally thin doesn’t make you feel any better.
Zena wrote on 10/16/06 at 4:52 am :
sorry i doubled up on the ‘and i exercise’ thing….don’t want people to think i’m one of those bulimics who purge with exercise!
elsworthy wrote on 10/16/06 at 10:36 am :
A friend and I used to get together and reminisce about our bad food days - because when you talk with someone who’s been through it also, they understand when you say you miss those days, while still getting that you don’t want to go back there.
Hey - I think disordered eating is the 21st century condition - more people have it than don’t.
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