April 30, 2009

• The Truth and Heart of the Matter

  Through a crack in the darkness, I can see a sliver of light. The door slowly opens a little wider, letting in more light. I huddle into the corner, trying not to make a sound. The tears have already started falling. He closes the door and enters my room. I know he’s looking under my bed right now. I hope he doesn’t find me. My hopes are torn away as I hear him making his way to the closet. I try and make myself disappear, I try and make myself melt into this corner I’m tightly hugging. My insides are shaking as he opens the closet door and finds me. He quickly covers my small mouth with his hand, forcing me to be quiet. He takes my small frame back to my bed, and I make myself forget.

  Okay, that story will have relevance later, I promise.

  I tried to attack this with facts and logic, but it’s still bothering me. Mostly because weight is such a personal issue with everyone that is either underweight or overweight. It’s emotional to go through, even without people being rude to you about it.

  Here’s my story, brutal and honest.

  When I was a little girl, we were poor and couldn’t afford a lot of things. Except for drugs. They always seemed to find money for drugs. Whatever. We were on food stamps. I remember going to the food shelf. Although, I was little, so I thought it was the grocery store when we went to the food shelf. I was malnourished for the first 9 years of my life. You could see my rib bones, my arms and legs were sticks. When I was 10, my dad straightened up, stoped doing drugs, and held down a job. We could afford food, and I started gaining weight. I was starving. That’s not to say that I ate and ate and ate. I had control over how much I ate. I was very active during this time too. I rode bikes miles and miles with my friends. Every day in the summer we’d be riding our bikes somewhere. Somehow, I managed to gain a lot of weight. I didn’t understand what was happening, and all of a sudden I was “the fat girl.”

  Ever since then, I have struggled with my weight. It’s in my genes to be overweight. All of the women on my mom’s side of the family has struggled with their weight. My aunt had to get a tummy tuck. My weight has been up and down, but I’ve never been thin since I was little. It’s very hard. When I go clothes shopping, I get so frustrated that I almost start crying. I shop and I think I see a shirt that will fit me. I try it on, and it doesn’t fit me right. Well, let me explain my body shape.

  I’m just under 5’1″. My breats are a 40D, I have wide shoulders, and wide hips. My thighs are huge, and so are my calves. My legs are all muscle, I have huge biceps. Even if you shed the fat on my body away, my bone structure is wide. I have no fat on my hips, yet they are wide. I have no fat on the sides of my stomach, yet I’m wide. My shoulder bones are wide. My rib cage is extended out because they are trying to compensate for the size and weight of my breasts. Yes, I can lose some weight, maybe 20-30 pounds. But even if I do, I’ll still be large, simply because that’s my bone structure.

  Anyway, it’s hard. Hard finding clothes, hard dealing with this. I don’t even look at my body in the mirror. I’m ashamed. I hate my body. It makes me hate myself. I don’t even know how long it’s been since I’ve looked at my own body. Every time I accidently see it in a mirror, I bit my lip and try very hard not to cry. “Fat people” know how they look.

  I don’t eat right. I’ll be the first one to admit it. I eat fast food frequently (not recently due to money problems, but whatever) and I drink a lot of pop. I don’t excercise. The only excercise I get is at work. I work in a warehouse, which is active, but I know it’s not enough. I know how to eat right, and I know the kinds of excercises to do.

  I choose not to.

  Here’s the brutal truth. Are you ready for it? Because at the end, you just might be in tears.

  You remember the story in the beginning of this blog? If you don’t, go back and read it.

  When I was 5, I was molested. Repeatedly. For several years. My youth is a huge black hole with random memories because of this. My soul is severely scarred. I don’t cry anymore. I hate what this has done to me. The man who violated me and stole my innocence has damaged my life forever. Other than that, I have been a victim many times for many different things in my life. I’m a victim. Predators know I’m a victim, and I become a victim again. That was why I was scared to write this.

  This is why it’s relevant.

  I don’t want men to look at me. I don’t want their attention. I don’t want to be molested or raped again. If I have to be fat for that to happen, so be it. Is it my fault that I was molested? Is it my fault I don’t want to be a victim again? Is it really my fault?

  I don’t wear clothes that reveal my cleavage very often. Even so, I get attention from men. Because of my big boobs and my pretty blue eyes. Because of my outwordly bubbly personality.

  You can tell in pictures what this has done to me. In my eyes you can see a very very sad little girl. I’m constantly tense and I still don’t sleep well. I have to sleep in complete darkness because I still have the HIDE mentality. This hasn’t just affected my weight. It’s affected my entire life.

  I’ve tried losing weight. I’ve eaten right and excercised. I’ve been successful. I’ve lost weight. Then I see I’ve lost weight, and I stop eating right. I stop excercising. It’s not a concious choice, let me tell you. This is psychological. This is more than it seems.

  The truth of the matter is, you have no fucking right to judge. Because you have no fucking clue.

  Step into my shoes, just once. Let’s see how you deal with being me. And let’s see if you’re still saying the things you are about fat people once you’ve been me, or anyone else you consider being fat.

  • 1:19 pm
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