so back in the dating world and it's kinda weird.
the whole getting to know you thing....
sharing pasts and stories and baggage and beliefs and values....
going to get food or drinks or a combination of the two.
there's always something that i have had a struggle with that i wish for fuck's sake after 15 years would go away. i can finally trace it back to its origin after so many rehashings of my life story.
i wish it didn't preoccupy my mind every moment of every day, but there is something i can not seem to put to rest.
the numeric value assigned to my jeans and the letter assigned to my shirts.
growing up a chubby kid didn't foster acceptance from peers or family. you'd think you'd love your kid regardless of how plump their rump became, but no. not in my family. i remember a thanksgiving when my gramma said i was too fat to eat pie. i looked around at the whole family eating. she was no skeleton, nor was my mother. why was i being judged and in front of everyone?
because of that instance, i have a phobia of eating in front of people. i feel like im being judged and stared at and whispered about. which sucks cos food is amazing and i like to cook and bake and on occasion binge eat.
and then there's being chubby. once you get to high school, you really need to do something drastic like attempt to kill yourself or get an eating disorder apparently. i chose the latter. i look back at pictures now when i was probably at a "healthy" weight of 110 pounds, and i honestly looked more sickly and alien like than cute. what's funny is that no one knew. NO ONE knew my strict rituals of ice cubes and lettuce. no one knew the 2000 crunches that i HAD to do every night or i wouldn't let myself go to sleep. they thought i was being healthy and growing into my body. a few friends noticed i never ate anymore around them and i realized, what i was doing was stupid and NOT healthy and they loved me regardless.
then came the yo-yoing of college and moving back with my dad and stress and depression.... balloon animal kelly returned. my dad would make horrible comments when i wore pj pants about how huge i looked. that's when i snapped again. i mean yeah, it goes on and on up and down. especially after being pregnant and gaining so much weight, once audrey was done nursing, i no longer cared about what i ate and began freaking out again. i dropped 70 pounds and probably am the smallest ive been since my high school days, but, it doesnt feel like enough.
so where am i now?
im surrounded by images of stick thin women on tv and the internet and in magazines and movies.
im surrounded by commercials for diet pills, weight loss tricks, and exercise dvds and machines.
im torn between the logical voice in my head that says i am more than the number on the scale or in my pants and the creepy demon that tells me that if i eat ill immediately get huge and no one will want to be around me anymore.
but what do i do?
i stare at myself angrily in the mirror. i poke and pull and tug at every ounce of skin that will move.
some days i restrict my eating in a very obsessive manner.
and i hate it.
the one ounce of baggage i cant seem to let go of.
so no, im not excited about getting to know people because of this stupid bag i wont put down. i clutch it like a fucking security blanket.
im too old for this.
like audrey is too old for a paci, im too old for this.
so when does it end?