The Thing About The Fat.
November 14th, 2006 by Kevin
The core issue at the front of my mind here - and I hope you’ll forgive me for rattling on and on about food and weight, but it really is bothering me this week - is that this year I lost sixty pounds and gained back ten.It seems like a small thing to whine about, doesn’t it? Poor me! I lost fifty pounds!
The thing is this: I had gotten very fat. I’m not even going to bother to fall back upon the excuses of medication blah blah bullshit - the fact is that I had become depressed and lazy and completely unconcerned with what I crammed into my face and had gotten very fat. Two hundred and twenty five pounds fat. Even at five eleven, that is pretty fat.
I wish I could say that I was one of those body-positive people who didn’t or doesn’t care about fat and thinks that everyone should accept his or her size and believes that you should eat whatever makes you happy and feels that McDonald’s is great and honestly thinks that a big ass is totally hot and “Rubenesque” and sexy, but I am not one of those people and I do not think or believe or feel those things, and it is very likely that I never will. I think that those things are bullshit and largely unhealthy and usually things that people say in order to make themselves feel better about being overweight.
Then again, look at where I’m standing.
Call me un-PC or a bitch or whatever, you like: I think fat is horrible. I probably don’t think it’s horrible on you, but I certainly think it’s horrible on me, and I notice every single gram of it on every part of my body, in everything I eat, and on everyone I look at. I don’t notice it because I want to, I notice it because it has been ingrained into my brain to notice it the way other people notice a person’s hair color or a food’s texture or smell.
I am hyper-aware of fat, size, space.
Gaining back those ten pounds has freaked me out. I feel like I am half a step away from the dreaded Fat Store and the boxed up Fat Clothes. I feel like my face is expanding more and more, every single second. I feel as if people are watching me and whispering about how absolutely repulsive I look in these jeans.
All of this is, of course, horse shit.
No one gives a shit about this but me and perhaps other fucked-up fat-size-space-obsessed folk who are possibly comparing their asses to my own but only really caring about their own.
No disordered person really gives a shit about the size of another human being. Half of us don’t give a shit about other human beings at all. I know that I just like to look at other women’s bodies so that I can either feel good or feel like shit by comparison. Usually I wind up feeling like shit either way. If someone is smaller than me, I feel like a huge, hulking whale. If someone is bigger than me I have a small flash of superiority followed by a long period of self-abuse for being such a shallow, rotten, horrible, shitty asshole.
My mother clucks at me every time I eat. “You’re eating too much.” This causes food to solidify into solid rock in my throat and become completely undigestible, causing me to eventually vomit. I am not making myself vomit. I am experiencing mother-induced anxiety vomiting. If I told her this, she would tell me I was being ridiculous. Then she would look down at her one-hundred-and-fourteen-pound self (that figure never, ever wavers) and tell me that she was gaining weight too, and to just stop eating at night the way I do.
The way I do. The way we both do, when she trots out boxes of cookies and crackers while we are watching TV together at night. I don’t know why I give in. I suppose I give in because she doesn’t like to snack alone. I suppose I also give in because I’m weak from starving all day.
“See,” she says. “You shouldn’t be eating all those Thin Mints. I only have a couple.”
Sometimes I want to slap her.
Both she and my father love to give me nutritional and exercise advice, which I listen to patiently every time. What they don’t know is that I am Jack Lalaine. I am Chuck Norris. I am Tony Little, I am Dr. Atkins, I am Dean Ornish, I am Oprah, I am every motherfucker that has ever written a book. I have studied them all. All of them, intensely, religiously, perfectly. I have read their websites and paid for many of their programs. I own their equipment and their videos.
I don’t need advice. Let me say it again: I don’t need advice. I need a way of forcing myself to follow it, and my brain does not allow me to do so.
My father calls and gives me tips for reducing my stomach, which would actually be quite flat if not for an unfortunate pouch of skin and tissue left over from a vertical C-section and years of losing and gaining weight, which have ravaged the skin. There really is not a lot I can do for my stomach other than an abdominoplasty, for which my father has offered to pay half if I can reach one hundred and fifteen pounds and remain there for a year. A - one hundred and fifteen pounds is so far away from me that I might as well plan to visit Mars, B - I don’t think I really need to spend money on frivolous plastic surgery. It’s not like I would walk around in crop tops, anyway.
My father looks me up and down every time he sees me. I am now conditioned to suck my stomach in and stand up straighter at the sight of my father. At least he is good for my posture, if not my self-esteem.
Sometimes I wonder whether he and my mother have secret conversations regarding my body and food intake.
“Well, I think she’s over one-seventy.”"Yesterday I caught her with a bagel.”
“Hide the bagels. Her ass is looking a bit wide, are there clothes hanging on the treadmill again?”
“No, but we do have Girl Scout cookies.”
“Girl Scout cookies? Are you crazy?”
The thing about being an only child is that you are always a pet project. My mother likes to feed the J-Man, but she would like me to have the perfect proportions of… somebody perfect. I don’t even know who. Maybe I should ask. It would be nice to know who I’m supposed to be.
My dad no doubt feels that my un-muscled flesh reflects poorly upon his own self, a person who, although becoming slightly paunchy with age, works out religiously. Although he is highly intelligent, I think he feels that it’s better for me to have a Soloflex body with no brain in it than to look pasty, witty, and un-flexed.
I simply want to be thin and unencumbered by both the demon hunger and the remarks about my body from everyone. I don’t want to hear whether I’ve lost, gained, grown a tumor out of my ass, turned green, anything. I just want my body the way I want it and I want it ignored by everyone else other than me and whoever might happen to be in a relationship with it.
That seems so impossible. It seems like someone has always been looking, measuring, sizing me up, commenting, catcalling, touching, something. When I was six, someone commented that I had a belly. I remember thinking, “Hell, doesn’t everyone?” But everyone didn’t, and I did. I didn’t for long, though.
Now, I have a belly, and a pretty gross-looking one, at that; and I hear that same voice in my head ten thousand times per day: You have a belly. You have a belly. You have a belly. I want to smash that person’s head against a wall. More than that, I want to rip the flesh from my body, and I can’t.
God knows I’ve tried.
There are some days in which I am relatively at peace with myself, days in which I do not stare in the mirror and want to cry, days in which my jeans fit and I eat an actual dinner and think, “Yeah, fuck it,” and have sex without wondering whether he thinks I look like The Blob and don’t really give my ass half a thought; but there are other days/weeks/months in which I feel so trapped by this hungry, angry, broken body I have created that I don’t know what to do and I mostly just want to climb into bed and sleep it all away.
There are other issues at play than just food/weight. Obviously my health is the nine thousand pound gorilla in the room. Still, sometimes it seems like I’ve been plugging away at this body thing for an awfully long time with no end in sight, and sometimes it’s just kind of disheartening.
le-fart wrote on 11/14/06 at 4:54 pm :
You say you don´t need advice, but a way for going through with that. I think you can´t. I think one can´t. Either you WANT to do this one thing, the one thing you´re up to, and then it´s gonna happen anyway, sooner or later, automatically, like a stone rolls down a hill. Either you want to do it, then it´s gonna happen automatically, by chance, so to speak, or you don´t want to, then it´s not gonna happen. —I also don´t get that thing where fat people are happy with their weight. But I guess it exists. Some just don´t want to lose it. Or do they just need support or something? I know an overweight person, and to me it feels like she doesn´t want to, like: she doesn´t even wish for it. It´s work to go through with it, so I understand the ditching, I mean, I get laziness. But I don´t get it when someone doesn´t WISH to get rid of it. I mean, that´s weird. I think. Unless they really have this rubenesque ideal or something. I´m sure some do mean it when they say they don´t wanna lose it. Those are then probably also not the poor pathetic crybabies, who suffer from what other people say or think about them. The person I know is so much more of a dealer, than the victim. I also always thought thick people were the poor sensitive ones, who just suck up crap from their environment and never can let anything go or something…
Kelly wrote on 11/14/06 at 4:58 pm :
115 is grossly underweight for your frame, your dad is nuts!!!! I feel for you. I’ve lost 28 lbs in the last three weeks and all I can think is “more, more!” Yeah, you know, the breakup diet? My previous experiences with this sort of weight loss were, “My ex-boyfriend wants to kill me so I must be a piece of shit” diet and the “I haven’t had sex in two years” diet.
Well, if you’re extroverted enough Jenn (and please don’t hate me for this), you could always tryout for Extreme Makeover to get the belly done. Instead of your dad’s ridiculous deal to cover “half” of it, you could get it free! And you could also plug about your FuckBrain! Maybe some hot neurologist woud see the show, fall madly in love with you, cure you for free, and marry you!
I’m a little optimistic, I know, but you never know what can happen. *hugs*
le-fart wrote on 11/14/06 at 4:59 pm :
This gorilla thing was soo nice. How did you do that now? That´s so sweet, that so makes me love you. I mean, I feel less unfamiliar. Why did you do this? That was so cool!
trancejen wrote on 11/14/06 at 5:04 pm :
?
dom wrote on 11/14/06 at 5:06 pm :
how does anyone do what they know they need to do for themselves but they don’t do it? i think we all have something like that in our lives. if you figure out the key, please do share.
Rae wrote on 11/14/06 at 5:25 pm :
This post was awesome. I know how to do all these diets and exercises. I know what my body responds to, but I don’t do it. I always end up self sabotaging and making it this huge deal in my head. some days I think I’d give up being smart for being thin. those days I don’t want to leave the house, and sometimes end up canceling my plans for the day. Its all ridiculous. I mean, I’m not trying to minimize the issue (no pun intended), but it is silly that I can do calculus but can’t drop the 50 lbs I need to.
I start out hopeful each time though. “This time I’m going to do it. This time I’m finally going to be happy.” I’m just hoping that this time I can blot out the voice that says “You know what, you’re really not going to be able to do it, so give up now.” We shall see.
But, my point (I had a point, I swear) was that I’m glad you posted this. It made me feel less retarded.
Nightowl wrote on 11/14/06 at 5:58 pm :
This post? I feel you. I empathize, I sympathize and I name it PMS. Not for you, but for me cause I feel this way when I gain 10 lbs of water weight.
Good god, where’s my stairclimber and treadmill when I need it.
mary ann wrote on 11/14/06 at 7:07 pm :
When I was thirteen and I quit dance, my mother commented that I had gotten a little belly. I remember thinking the same thing “all women have little bellies” but all these years later it’s still in my head…
meredith wrote on 11/14/06 at 7:18 pm :
God, how our parents can fuck us up!
tooashamed wrote on 11/14/06 at 8:35 pm :
oh, god, do I understand. though I’m also one of the anti-diet, pro-fat, political ranters. you know the real reason? (one of the real reasons, anyway.) I don’t want anybody to try to get thin but me. me me me me me I am the thin one. except, of course, that I’m not, really.
I wish I had an answer or you had an answer, but it seems that neither of us does. Thanks for saying what I’m too ashamed to say, though.
Kungfukitten wrote on 11/14/06 at 9:22 pm :
Augh. I can relate. I’m on Prednisone right now and I’m weighing myself every hour on the hour (very sight exaggeration) out of fear that I’ll put on twenty pounds over night. It’s crazy! Focus on losing 50 pounds that’s amazing. Consider the 10 pounds, vanity pounds, you’ll take them off the same way you did before. No worries.
dataslave wrote on 11/14/06 at 9:57 pm :
Anyone that mentions anything about an adult woman’s body that ISN’T “I really like your (insert body part here)” does not have your best interests in heart. If they think they do (i.e. parents), they should re-examine their assumptions. The fight is internal to you, period.
115 at 5′11″? That is sick, and looks like hell, I don’t care who you are.
carl wrote on 11/14/06 at 10:50 pm :
It takes alot of disapline, and ignoring the little monstyer voice in the head. Also if you fuck up, then start over tomorrow, and again if you fuck up you start again tomorrow…hopefully you will over come the problem before you die LOL
You are lucky to have parents that at least pay attention to you even if it is misdirected attention…my parents were always too drunk to pay much attention to anything I did or said. Anyways.. just keep tryin and cryin and sooner or later you will achieve your goals.
Anne wrote on 11/14/06 at 11:42 pm :
I, er, sent you an e-mail through MyBacon…cuz I just got on a roll. But excellent post!
sarah wrote on 11/15/06 at 1:50 am :
jen why don’t you just talk to your parents about the feelings you posted? how you feel like you’re being hounded and watched and it’s only exacerbating your ed-thinking? i know it’s hard talking to parents about it, esp. when you’re old enough to know better, but you’re still human at the end of the day and vulnerable to other people’s behavior around you- particularly your parents- you can ignore the peripheral people in life, but not your family.
LA wrote on 11/15/06 at 7:50 am :
115. At our height. Considering our skeleton weighs about 85lbs, it was really really generous of your dad to ‘let’ you have a whole 30lbs for skin, internal organs, blood, brain, hair and teeth. I mean, wow. Who can’t manage to reduce her entire body into something that can be sent by FedEx? Fucking Shalom Harlow weighs more than 115 and she’s a scary xylophone. I am officially disgusted with your father. ~LA
razor-vixen wrote on 11/15/06 at 9:07 am :
Um, 115 for your height would be REALLY underweight! But I do understand some of your thoughts. I have been feeling even more heifer-like lately. And whereas you probably don’t feel bad or pity other fat people, I do….which makes me feel pretty shameful. But, 50 lbs is amazing. I would say keep going until you feel comfortable….but from reading you for a long time, I have a feeling that you wouldn’t feel comfortable until 115 anyways.
Gwensarah wrote on 11/15/06 at 10:47 am :
115 at your height? The Boyfriend is 5′9 and 118 and seriously looks dangerously thin, at 5′11 you wouldn’t look anything but sick and it’s sad that your dad is wanting you to be underweight, sadder that he thinks that’s what’s attractive. I understand how you feel though, this summer I was actually at pre-Rymer weight (not that this makes me the waif I so want to be but still I looked better than I had in ages) now I’m pounds heavier and even though I know and had it confirmed to me that it’s not fat but fluid building up due to a surge in my cardiomyopathy’s evilness..it makes me sad to look in the mirror. Instead of worrying about how serious this is I think about how fat and disgusting I look. At the same time if I was at a pretty good weight for my height as you are now, I’d tell my parents to respectfully fuck off. You don’t want your son growing up to have that same mentality.
Steph wrote on 11/15/06 at 11:01 am :
I’m sorry, but your dad is fucking insane. I’m sure he’s great, but he is nuts. 115???? OK, that’s doable. Just schedule the skeleton removal surgery. And your mom sounds like she has plenty of food issues of her own.
Sorry for the rant. That just pissed…anyway, sorry.
oldmaid wrote on 11/15/06 at 11:33 am :
115 pounds? 115? i had to reread that a couple of times to make sure that i hadn’t misread it, because 115 pounds is NOT A HEALTHY WEIGHT FOR SOMEONE OF YOUR HEIGHT. you probably already know this. but still. that would give you a bmi of 16, which is totally underweight. good lord, no wonder you have food issues, after growing up around someone who is that out of touch with what a woman should weigh. maybe if you were, like, 5′2″. and i can’t believe your mom wags junk food under your nose and then chides you for eating it. i don’t comment all that often, but i was just wide-eyed by the time i got to the end of this post, and i would have felt negligent if i hadn’t added my voice to the ones pointing out the absurdity of what your parents are saying and doing.
Jas wrote on 11/15/06 at 12:26 pm :
Sorry, but do your parents know you have an eating disorder? I think, and I’m not trying to be mean, that they need to go to support groups and learn the proper way to relate to you, since all they seem to be doing in this area is making things worse. I’m sure your folks are great people, but damn. Also, allow me to join the chorus of those chanting “115 lbs on a 5′11″ frame? EWWWW.”
Erika wrote on 11/15/06 at 2:26 pm :
I know you will probably be upset with everyone bashing your folks, but honestly, treating you like that about your weight is abuse. They know what you’ve been through. Is there anyway you can talk to them and get them to back off. Even though your mom is “taking care of you” right now, it doesn’t give her the right to treat you like that. Or you the right to feel you have to take it. I hope you take the comments above for what they are, people who care about you. Jenn, you are such a wonderful person and mother, you deserve happiness!
Erika wrote on 11/15/06 at 2:32 pm :
Damn it, I wrote a whole long comment and it didn’t show up.
Jenn, I know you will probably be upset with everyone bashing your parents, but honestly they’re actions border on abuse. Despite the fact that you need to live with your mother right now does not give her the right to speak to you like that. And you shouldn’t feel you need to take it. Can you try and talk to them about it, or maybe even a snide, shut up? Jenn, you are a wonderful person and mother, you deserve happiness! Please take the comments as they are meant, from people who care about you and hurt to see you being treated like this.
Lisa wrote on 11/15/06 at 2:41 pm :
Since entering my 30s, my metabolism has noticeably slowed down, and I have started to monitor what I eat, and try and be more regimented about exercising. (Previously, I ate whatever I wanted, and never worried about exercise.) I am a perfectionist, which I have now come to see as a *bad thing*. The thing about being a perfectionist is that you (and by “you” I mean “me”) are not happy with yourself unless you do things perfectly, every single time. So, if the job is to eat healthy foods, then I am not happy with myself unless I have a perfect, unbroken record of 5 major food groups at every meal, with no slip-ups. And any slip-up on my part makes me feel so guilty, and bad about myself. I have noticed about my work life that the perfectionist tendency makes me spend too long on tasks, so that I delay other tasks getting done. This is why I have decided that being a perfectionist is a bad thing. Anyway. What has worked for me is to change the goal, by recognizing that I am human, and prone to mistakes and temptations. So, I no longer expect or hope for perfection, but instead I expect and hope for 80% of perfection, with an allowance of 20% for falling off of the wagon. I expect to be tempted to eat pie for dinner every once in a while. I expect to be too tired to get up and exercise at least once a week. With those expectations built in (and it took me a while to achieve them), I avoid the guilt and self-flagellation, which is really counter-productive and awful. I don’t know if that would work for you. And please tell your dad that your height means that your healthy weight is in the 135-178 range.
hydrogeek wrote on 11/15/06 at 2:56 pm :
I’m 5′11″, and I’ve been 115 pounds before, and it IS NOT pretty. It is Skeletor. Of course, I couldn’t see that until I was looking back on pictures. Amazing what the “I married a total asshole” diet can do for you. Good luck feeling healthy about your weight despite your parents.
(De-lurking for this comment, but I’ve been reading a long time. Please keep writing!)
bethsheba wrote on 11/15/06 at 4:04 pm :
I am tempted to post a forum that just got started. its much like the one futurebird had. I can email you the link if you like
trancejen wrote on 11/15/06 at 6:38 pm :
I know of it, Beth.
dataslave wrote on 11/15/06 at 8:05 pm :
I’m sorry, Jen. I meant to be supportive and came off like an idiot- I don’t have le-fart’s touch, I guess. I was married to someone like you, and there was nothing, nothing I could do to help. I had it out with her mother once over the subject, which didn’t help either. Please remember that, as I’ve said before, we’re here and we’re not going anywhere. Good luck.
Pam wrote on 11/15/06 at 8:53 pm :
I’ve lost 89lbs (as in, I used to be 276lbs and am now 187lbs) since 2004 and gained 10lbs since Sunday (I was 177 on Sunday :(). It is a never-ending battle my friend, as I’m sure you well know. I just hired a personal trainer, am hoping to kick off these last 30lbs…and I know everyone’s said this but 115 is waaaay too thin for you. I told my trainer I wanted to weigh 130 at 5′9″ and he said no way. My boyfriend got sick and went down to 140 at 6′2″ and looked disgusting, like a fucking jew from the concentration camps or something.
Melanie wrote on 11/16/06 at 12:41 pm :
Ah, parents. They love you, and feed you, and send you to school, and patch up your ouchies, and simultaneously spout the most astounding bullshit about stuff like weight. Your dad sounds a lot like mine — workout fanatic, very concerned about his appearance. I realized a long time ago that Dad didn’t want a daughter, he wanted a fashion accessory. And Mom took me to a dietician who put me on speed at the age of 9 (holy Judy Garland), told me I’d look like the side of a barn when she found out I was wearing a red bridesmaid’s dress to a wedding, and informed me quite seriously that boys didn’t care how pretty I was, they only wanted nice bodies.
And yet they both loved me, and I do love them. I just don’t listen to them anymore, and that took a hella long time, over 6,000 miles of distance and marriage to a bodacious Brit to happen. You have to live with this nonsense on a regular basis. I just wish I could wave a magic wand and stuff some common sense into your parents’ heads. They may mean well, but anyone who tells a 5′11′ person with your medical issues that she should weigh 115 pounds is living in their own private Idaho.
Lola wrote on 11/16/06 at 10:31 pm :
You know your parents are nuts, right?
Seriously, your Dad has always thought he could put Jack Lelain to shame (as if). And, well, like I said your Mom is nuts.
Sorry if I sound flip, it just sucks that they can make you feel like crap the way they do. No matter how old we get, our parents are always able to mess with our minds. It’s got to be even harder now that your living with your Mom again.
Hope all else is well in Tranceland.
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