"now, Eliesa, these are just for water!" her mother instructed as she handed her a box of wine glasses, thin and beautiful and simple. her mom was serious, but never ignorant. "i mean, of course," she retorted to her mom with a laugh, "because we only drink water at UGA anyway." she smiled to herself, because she knew that this day would come--relaxing after a workout, musing away to coldplay, sipping ice-water from a wine glass.
that breath revisited her, and a bravery suited up in her vertebrae, like a kind of courage seeping from the fuzzy carpet at her toes and up to her sweet and tired heart. blinding, heart race rising, it began. time to face the facts. time to talk about self esteem...
~~~
so my dad has this theory that fat people overcompensate for being fat. they do stuff to make themselves feel better.
tears push through calm ducts like women in a shopping mall on black friday, fighting to be birthed into freedom from the crowds pushing and shoving every which way. that saving breath rejuvenated her, and so she went on.
he says he knows one women who has been large for years, probably decades, and she is a bitch because she doesn't like herself. she has a tattoo on her leg, swollen with the fat of motherhood and years of not taking care of oneself, and he says she got it to feel sexy. another women whom i viewed as a happy and vivacious women he described as "loud," to create power and take control of the room. it would make her feel powerful, and untouchable, unhurtable. i asked him what his overcompensation was. he mulled over it for only a moment, then replied fairly quickly, almost like it didn't even take any thought. "i'm rude," he admitted, like he was talking about the weather, "and i'm mean. i'm not patient," he went on. these are things i know about him, and we've talked about. and in the course of this conversation i found myself wondering what it was that i did to make up for my own insecurities.
she took a comforting nibble of cantaloupe, and she could feel vulnerability drumming in her heart. her shaking hands clicked and typed and backspaced. she got up and walked around the apartment.
i've been overweight for a while now. my whole life i haven't been pleased with my body, how it looked in certain clothes, how it felt and what it let me do when i attempted physical activity; i was never athletic. when i was 9, i was obsessed with Herbalife and Stormie Omartin workout videos. a few years later, it was vegetarianism and Tae Bo. junior year of high school i loved spending my hours at Bodyplex, and running after school. i'll never forget sitting in theater and Greg, my best friend at the time, perplexedly fondling my calves in jealousy and amazement.
i gained a lot of weight after that though. it was weight i'd been battling for years, i was always chubby as a kid, but i wasn't really fat. even looking back at pictures from high school and especially middle school, i can't believe i thought that girl was fat. she was lovely. a blooming picture of womanly curves and joyful, dimpled smiles. and that silly eyebrow. but near the end of high school, i took some medication that made me gain weight like crazy. i was on anti-depressants, and as my mental health got stronger in some areas, i'm not sure if i'll ever believe it was worth the weight gain, which shot down my mental health so much farther in other places.
deep breath. biting lip. rubbing eyes. go.
i've repressed a lot for a long time. this is my coming undone. welcome to vulnerability, please make yourself in a comfortable position, perhaps grab a wineglass of water (or whatever you prefer). it takes time to unravel.
i let boys tell me i'm beautiful to comfort the fact that somewhere deep down i was empty. i trusted my smile to make me pretty, my button nose to make me cute, my height to make me stunning, my curves to make me sexy. part of me believes there is definitely an element of the verbal and physical presence of male support that has helped me pretend that i love all of my body, that i like what i see in the mirror, that i have good, healthy self esteem. part of me thinks this is not evil; most women are the same way, in some percentage. i think it's a fairly subconscious science of the mind, but i'm a deep thinker, and i go there.
i'm conflicted, for i do not know if i truly have loved myself through the years or not. i have always pursued life in spite of my appearances--i tap danced in high school, i even competed in and won pageants at my school, beating out lots of stinkin' GORGEOUS girls. but i still.... deep down.... thought i won because they were "proud of the fat girl for stepping up and being courageous." i'll never know if that's true, or if it's a bad thing, like my brain fights to convince me it is.
i met a boy once who really liked me, and i liked him. in one of our early on conversations, he told me that my weight was a concern to him. he liked me as i was, and wouldn't mind me smaller, but he was honest--he wouldn't be attracted to me, and would not date me, if i was any bigger. straight up told me that. i wasn't even hurt, though. i was so happy to meet a non bullshit kinda guy. probably because, while i've dated guys who've told me, "i like curvy girls," i can't help but think--there's a difference between wide hips, voluptuous breasts, and a soft covering of healthy fat across the body, and just being unhealthy. being fat. which is what i was. which is what i am. which is what i'm changing.
so you know what's funny? i've spent about a month now mulling over this concept of, "what is my overcompensation?" and the thing is, i think back to going to the beach this summer, and bravely suiting up in a BIKINI at the size of 223, and just being like, "eff this, i'm going to love my body because it's beautiful, it works, i have legs and kidneys and a parasympathetic nervous system and that is beautiful." i just kind of haven't let ANYTHING stop me. pageants, dance, bikini...
maybe that's it. i think i want so badly to see other people love themselves and believe that i love myself, that i have acted for years in that role, so that maybe i'd believe it too. and now, it's led to so much confusion. i scheduled at appointment with CAPS today.
i recently have received comments and gratitude for my openness and honesty, for my candidness and vulnerability, and ultimately for taking a stand for holistic health. so i've decided i'll run with it. you know what? it honestly doesn't matter to me if even one person reads these blogs--it is for me, a journey i can look back on and thank myself for ("do something today that your future self will thank you for"). that's why i don't care how long these posts get, or about posting with grammatical perfection, or about how honest i get. this is for me, and it can be for you.
an inspiration that vulnerability is worth it.
~~~
she breathed again, pushing herself away from the desk and scanning the words she'd just created and their order, their content. would anybody understand how deeply wounding it feels to be this open? "do you understand how deeply healing it is for you to be this open?" an inner voice cooed. there were more things to say, she knew that, and the audience didn't matter tonight. courage welled in her fingertips, and she pushed onward.
she recalled a face that she saw earlier tonight. it was not nice to look at, in fact it was uncomfortable to behold--it felt like when you've got an itch but it's buried under layers of winter clothes, or when you're sweaty along an elastic line of clothing, like a bra, and you will not be free to remove it and feel dry again for hours. that's how it was to behold this face. it was red in patches, and there were two small blue beads underneath a wide forehead, they represented the ability of sight. between these eyes was a nose that was round, too round, emphasizing the spherical shape of the entire head upon which it lay. the skin was peeling where she'd anxiously scratched at endless blackheads. her mouth shot inward, curling into her teeth (which were actually appealingly straight). sweat dripped quickly down her temples and followed her jaw, swollen with fat, to her witch-like chin. she was looking in the mirror.
to be fair, that is a dramatization. i'm a writer, and i like to experiment with how i can make the reader feel. is it possible to repulse you? do i possess the ability to twist my letters into words and conjunctions that represent concepts of self-hatred? did any of that feel familiar?
most of the time i like what i see in the mirror, but when i'm in those work out classes at ramsey, my brain loathes every inch of my body. shin-splints cry out at me angrily, weak lungs complain, "are we there yet," and glutes and shoulders moan incessantly as i guide them through squats and pushups. this kind of negativity translates to a lack of forgiveness. as i ran the track at ramsey tonight for my kick boxing class, my brain had a field day of self hatred. 'how could you eat all that crap last weekend? why did you stop working out in high school? why did you give up working out this summer?? you were down to 203 spring break! you were so damn close to being under 200 pounds for the first time in years. what the hell were you thinking, you useless lump of fat and bones.' that is what the devil upon my weary shoulder cursed into my heart tonight. and i felt a flutter of love seep serenely into my ear, as i passed the rock climbing wall, and Kindness whispered, "it's gonna feel so damn good when you ring that bell for the first time."
so maybe it wasn't a world changing effect of loving myself, but it was enough to get me around the track and to finish the class. i love myself a lot when i'm not sweaty, and angry like i'm doing cardio in the pits of hades, so i'm not terribly concerned all too often. but as the hatred seeped out of my overfilled pores, i whispered to myself, panting, "i've got to forgive myself." which is what led me to schedule a counseling appointment at CAPS. last semester i learned not to hate people who do bad things. this summer i learned to love people. and now it's time to stop hating myself and find love to replace the darkness.
there is a close inner circle of those who i consider my best friends, those who know me and whom i know in return. a knowledge that begins with understanding and is hemmed snuggly along with affection, admiration, and adoration. this is a small circle. the majority of those in my life are outside of this circle, in a larger, less intimate circle--and that's normal, and okay, and i love them too. but you know what i'm talking about. anyway, people in the majority circle know i am honest. often described as genuine, open, fearless, vulnerable, honest: this girl. i think they assume it is easy for me, maybe i come across as such. what they don't know is how frantic i feel as i do it, how it feels like peeling skin from the tender muscles of my body. these things don't come easy to me. however. i've read enough quotes about openness, living with a lack of secrets, and particularly--about humanity--to be to the point where i value nothing higher than the concept of Common Humanity. we are all the same, we share all feelings, ideas, hope, dreams, fears. i want to love humanity for this. i want to embrace fortitude, and i want to watch other blindly courageous--however confused and uncertain they are--people to come with me. so, that's why i do what i do. and that's why i've said the words i've said.
papers fluttered on her desk as that breath-giving aluminum fan whirred along unchangingly. there was a nervousness in the pit of her tummy where there was once tension; an empty, poured-out feeling now stood where anticipation was once, only an hour before. all the ice had melted in her wineglass, and there was a puddle of condensation in a ring at the base, where droplets had found solace in stillness.
she recalled a face that she saw earlier tonight. it was not nice to look at, in fact it was uncomfortable to behold--it felt like when you've got an itch but it's buried under layers of winter clothes, or when you're sweaty along an elastic line of clothing, like a bra, and you will not be free to remove it and feel dry again for hours. that's how it was to behold this face. it was red in patches, and there were two small blue beads underneath a wide forehead, they represented the ability of sight. between these eyes was a nose that was round, too round, emphasizing the spherical shape of the entire head upon which it lay. the skin was peeling where she'd anxiously scratched at endless blackheads. her mouth shot inward, curling into her teeth (which were actually appealingly straight). sweat dripped quickly down her temples and followed her jaw, swollen with fat, to her witch-like chin. she was looking in the mirror.
to be fair, that is a dramatization. i'm a writer, and i like to experiment with how i can make the reader feel. is it possible to repulse you? do i possess the ability to twist my letters into words and conjunctions that represent concepts of self-hatred? did any of that feel familiar?
most of the time i like what i see in the mirror, but when i'm in those work out classes at ramsey, my brain loathes every inch of my body. shin-splints cry out at me angrily, weak lungs complain, "are we there yet," and glutes and shoulders moan incessantly as i guide them through squats and pushups. this kind of negativity translates to a lack of forgiveness. as i ran the track at ramsey tonight for my kick boxing class, my brain had a field day of self hatred. 'how could you eat all that crap last weekend? why did you stop working out in high school? why did you give up working out this summer?? you were down to 203 spring break! you were so damn close to being under 200 pounds for the first time in years. what the hell were you thinking, you useless lump of fat and bones.' that is what the devil upon my weary shoulder cursed into my heart tonight. and i felt a flutter of love seep serenely into my ear, as i passed the rock climbing wall, and Kindness whispered, "it's gonna feel so damn good when you ring that bell for the first time."
so maybe it wasn't a world changing effect of loving myself, but it was enough to get me around the track and to finish the class. i love myself a lot when i'm not sweaty, and angry like i'm doing cardio in the pits of hades, so i'm not terribly concerned all too often. but as the hatred seeped out of my overfilled pores, i whispered to myself, panting, "i've got to forgive myself." which is what led me to schedule a counseling appointment at CAPS. last semester i learned not to hate people who do bad things. this summer i learned to love people. and now it's time to stop hating myself and find love to replace the darkness.
there is a close inner circle of those who i consider my best friends, those who know me and whom i know in return. a knowledge that begins with understanding and is hemmed snuggly along with affection, admiration, and adoration. this is a small circle. the majority of those in my life are outside of this circle, in a larger, less intimate circle--and that's normal, and okay, and i love them too. but you know what i'm talking about. anyway, people in the majority circle know i am honest. often described as genuine, open, fearless, vulnerable, honest: this girl. i think they assume it is easy for me, maybe i come across as such. what they don't know is how frantic i feel as i do it, how it feels like peeling skin from the tender muscles of my body. these things don't come easy to me. however. i've read enough quotes about openness, living with a lack of secrets, and particularly--about humanity--to be to the point where i value nothing higher than the concept of Common Humanity. we are all the same, we share all feelings, ideas, hope, dreams, fears. i want to love humanity for this. i want to embrace fortitude, and i want to watch other blindly courageous--however confused and uncertain they are--people to come with me. so, that's why i do what i do. and that's why i've said the words i've said.
~~~
papers fluttered on her desk as that breath-giving aluminum fan whirred along unchangingly. there was a nervousness in the pit of her tummy where there was once tension; an empty, poured-out feeling now stood where anticipation was once, only an hour before. all the ice had melted in her wineglass, and there was a puddle of condensation in a ring at the base, where droplets had found solace in stillness.
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