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Monthly Archives: November 2010

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The Invisible Woman (Who Takes Up Too Much Room)

This entry is all over the place. I’ve tried for a few hours to make it gel but it just doesn’t want to. Bear with me.

“Everybody is unique. Compare not yourself with anybody else lest you spoil God’s curriculum.” — Baal Shem Tov

“In the scenery of spring there is nothing superior, nothing inferior, flowering branches are by nature some short, some long. – Zen Proverb

“Someone’s opinion of you does not have to become your reality.” — Les Brown

“Think highly of yourself because the world takes you at your own estimate.” — Author Unknown

I like those. They reflect the dichotomy that is my self-view, and my self-esteem that fluctuates way more than my weight. I used to refer to it as having two different mirrors: There was the mirror in my house in which I looked gorgeous. And then there was any mirror in public, which reflected the “real” me, the one that was fat and ugly and undesirable.  I have a very hard time distinguishing between what is real and what I perceive to be real, at least as far as my outer self, so be warned.

I’ve been skinny. I’ve been fat. I’ve been skinny. And now I’m heading to the fat side again.  I suspect that I will teeter toward the skinny yet again in the next year or two.  Because my life is dynamic and fluid, not static. But I live in a world where my Philly neighbors remarked on my 15 pound weight gain after quitting smoking.

This is really hard for me to write and I don’t think any of it will be poetic, and I’m pretty sure it will ramble but whatever.

I read that bullshit “article” by Maura Kelly of Marie Claire (Please say that name with a sneer and go and read that POS and then come back.) and was as horrified and grossed out by it as she is by “fatties.”

God damn, I swear. My blood pressure is rising and not because I’m fat, you fucking bitch. My blood pressure is perfect.  My last physical was aces. I don’t have diabetes. Ooo, OK, breathe deep. Deep breaths. Oh, please feel free to write to Marie Claire. Many did, but the Editor in Chief couldn’t care less and there doesn’t seem to be any fall-out. I do wonder if Maura had written “Should Jews Get a Room,” or “Should Black People Get a Room” if she would still have a job.

Here’s the thing: It is because of shit like that that I am ashamed to see family and friends that I haven’t seen since I was skinny. I don’t fucking count or deserve happiness because I don’t look like Victoria Beckham. Or do I not I give them enough credit to think that maybe they actually care about me for me, not the way my ass looks? But then again I have friends and family that are constantly dieting and comparing cousin to cousin, friend to friend, and talking shit about those that gained weight, unless of course it was because of pregnancy and then that is allowed, but only for just a little while.  Best get back to that pre-baby weight to be valid!

To be more acceptable I had the gastric bypass and looked fabulous, I thought, for a while. (Quite a few people said I was way too skinny.) And now the weight is creeping back but it is nice to not vomit every day or feel that weird, unexplainable pain in my left shoulder that I would get from not eating. But then again it would be nice to put on a sundress and not feel self-conscious. But wait, I felt self-conscious even when I was skinny so what’s bugging me, really?

Why is that being skinny is so wanted, even when it comes at such a price as rearranging your guts and being anorexic or bulimic? I went with a friend to New Orleans once, and was feeling good about myself…until I decided that I wanted to flash the people on the balcony for some beads. (I mean, why the hell not? It was a beautiful night. The weather was great. Everyone was happy.) I went to flash a balcony and just as the shirt went up I noticed the guy next to me look at me with disgust. Disgust? Really? Needless to say I was hurt, and worse I was suddenly embarrassed. Embarrassed to be me and ashamed to have put others through the grossness that was my body.

I don’t know, y’all. I’m mostly positive, though my mood runs cynical sometimes. I try to be on time, and almost always am. I try to compliment others not only on the things they didn’t choose, like their looks, but also their intelligence, kindness, etc. I can’t tell you left or right, even though I can read the hell out of a map, never get lost, and can tell you north, south, east, or west. I have beautiful eyes, and rock short hair like no one’s business. Can’t tell a joke, though. I’ve traveled. I am open to almost anything. I am weird yet square. I can get cranky as fuck. I cry very, very easily. I am super sensitive. I love to drive on highways and drive fast and yell at other drivers. (“OH! Oh, nice, dipshit! JEEESSUUUSSS Keee-RISTE! First day driving, dickhole?!) I love my mom, my brother, my nephew, the Dude, my furry kids, my friends, my family, cooking shows, “Giant,” sparkly lotion, good shoes, cheap wine.

Why is my worth based on my weight? I’d like to adopt the last quote as my mantra.

Anyone want to say it with me?