I'm just your average, everyday, divorced 38 year old girl -- overweight, tragically unhip,
and trying to make a life for myself. I live with two furry beasts, Dave and Abby, whose
feline mission in life is to choke me with their fur. Nothing special.
Thursday afternoon. So Beckie wrote something today that really got me thinking. Then it made me sad. Then it made me mad.
Here's what she said (for those, like me, too lazy to follow links): "A fat woman making fun of herself isn't funny, it's alarming. A fat woman making fun of herself isn't funny, it's downgrading. A fat woman making fun of herself isn't funny, it's her terrible way of saying "Im not worthy"."
Dear God, that's just so true, isn't it? How many times have I talked about my fat butt or my huge stomach or the multiple chins? Why is it that I feel I need to do that (and I do really feel that it's something I need to do)? So, that's what made me sad.
What made me mad, you might wonder? Well, that was when my thoughts wandered out further afield than my own actions to thinking about what the world has to say about fat people. First, the whole concept of what's "fat" and what's not is totally out of whack, but we're not even going to go there. I'm talking about late night comedians or the disk jockey on your local radio station. I know I've heard some really cruel jokes about Delta Burke, Kirstie Alley, and Star Jones, just to name a few. A particularly stupid DJ actually said something about Star's wedding because of how big she was. Excuse me? Fat women aren't allowed to have beautiful weddings with pretty dresses???
How is this OK? Why is it acceptable for anyone in the public eye to stereotype an entire segment of the population for a cheap joke??? If you changed the joke from Star Jones and how she looked like a Yeti Snowbeast in her dress to an Mexican-American celebrity (throw in a racial epithet that I won't use) and the fact that his family can't come to dinner because they got stopped by Border Patrol [Very Important Note: I would never and have never made such a joke, so please don't take offense. I'm trying to show something as offensive as the original but in a context that is not socially acceptable.], you'd have an uproar, a spot on all of the evening newscasts, and, potentially, a civil rights lawsuit on your hands.
Why is it OK to say such horrible, hurtful things about fat people? And, perhaps more telling, why are we not fighting back? Does it go right back to the original thought that I had about making fun of myself before someone else does it? What if the thing that will turn the tide in creating understanding among the general public of how we feel is our being willing to stand up, take the ridicule, turn it back on these low-class morons, and prevail in the end?
Every time someone looks at themselves in the mirror and thinks, "I'm not worth it because I'm fat," they win.
Every time someone thinks twice about doing or even stops themselves from doing something exciting (travel, adventure sports, leadership) because they're afraid of how their butt will look or whether they'll fit in the necessary equipment or whatever, they win.
Every time a little girl who is a healthy weight gives in to the pressure to diet, thus teaching her to ignore her body's natural appetite in pursuit of a flat stomach, they win.
What is it about my extra flesh that threatens them so much that they have to belittle me to feel OK?!!
I'm so tired of letting them win. I'm so angry right now. I want the answer and I know there isn't one and that makes me sad again.
Thursday morning. Why can I not be happily unemployed and supported by an indulgent husband (or benefactor)? I don't want to go to work, I just want to be able to go and do wonderful things for myself today...pamper, pamper, pamper, Baby. Instead, I'm going to another fun-filled day at VLSCI with all but 30 minutes of my day booked into (mind-numbing) meetings. PowerPoint poisoning cannot be far behind!
Wednesday evening. OK, so Plan C went out the door by about 10:30am this morning but that's not why I'm writing. It's funny how you can be absolutely laser-focused on something self-centered and then - WHAM! - Life kindly steps in and reminds you of what's truly important to you.
I was driving to work this morning and kept trying to call my mom for my semi-daily check in but the phone was busy for the entire drive. I think I muttered something like, "Get off the damned phone!" Once I got into my office, my cell phone rang and it was Mom. Her voice was shaky and I got a cold shiver as I listened because I knew it wasn't good. It's my dad. Daddy. Less than a year after his heart surgery, his orthopedist called and said that they want him to make an appointment at USC's Cancer Center with an oncologist. For what we assumed was just a cyst.
They didn't explain to my mom what it was about his MRI that made them think that he needs to see a cancer treatment specialist and, after she's read through the MRI report (remember, she's a nurse) about 150 times, she can't see anything that affirmatively supports the idea that it's a cancerous mass. He's had so much blood work done in the last nine months that it's a wonder he's got any left and nothing untoward has shown up. Red and white blood cell counts are normal and they wouldn't be if he had one of the blood cancers. They just opened him up completely in April and you'd have thought any irregularities would have shown up then, too.
I just can't and won't believe that this is anything more than an unfortunate cyst that can be drained and moved to the bin of Scary Things We Don't Have to Worry About Anymore. No, no, no, no. I'm not crying and I'm not letting Mom cry, either. We don't know anything, I won't beleive it until we hear it from a doctor, and that's just the way it's going to be. My chin is firmly set in "stubbornly optimistic" mode and the Big C doesn't even want to mess with me!
Do you know what's great about the Internet? No one can see your hands shake.
Wednesday morning. Well, that plan worked right up until I got downstairs to the cafe. I walked past some really nummy beef stew on my way to the salad bar and kept walking (so far so good) until I got to the Chicken Caesar wrap station. And, um, since we're having a wrap, let's get some chips, too. (Why not?) So much for Plan B.
Plan C involves actually doing all of the preparation for the healthy meals at home in the morning. These meals require defrosting then cooking in separate bags then combining into one. Basically, when I'm really hungry (as I am by noon when it's time for lunch), waiting and fussing with that stuff just makes me frantic and that's when the eating disorder monster kicks in with a vengeance. I hope Plan C will work...we shall see.
The problem with both of these plans, however, is that they feel like diets and, as I read in the Overcoming Bulimia workbook, is a major trigger for my disorder. OK, so how do I lose weight while treating this disease? Maybe I don't. Maybe they can't exist simultaneously for me, at least not as far as food goes. Perhaps I have to focus on eating whatever I want and just avoiding binges? I can get back into walking (need to get a new treadmill) and that will help, but maybe restricting food just won't work for me.
Oh my God, if I can't diet, how am I ever going to lose weight??? I can't stay this weight forever! Gah, I'm going to go and eat breakfast and try Plan C.
Tuesday afternoon. I'm so hungry right now that I can feel my stomach twisting and turning. Fortunately, a dietician from the new meal preparation company I'm using called just as I was contemplating going downstairs and pigging out on something from the cafe. I told her that their 1,200 calories a day was really making me hungry and she told me that I can add a salad with 2 cups of lettuce and 1 cup raw veggies (plus 2T of light dressing) to both lunch and dinner plus a fruit serving with lunch. Now, by my calculations, that's still going to leave me considerably below my doctor-recommended 1500-1800 calories a day, so I might be a little more liberal with the dressing on my salads. Still, I really like the Cheese Fantastico dressing by Bernstein's and it's so very low in calories for the flavor it imparts that I might be able to stick to the weensy recommended amount.
The fact that I'm even having this conversation and not just running downstairs for food is a good sign, I think. Yes, I'm well-pleased.
OK, so yesterday wasn't such a wonderful day, was it? As usual, breakfast fine, morning snack fine, too, then comes lunch and - hey, why not go and get something yummy from downstairs in the cafeteria? And, once you've done that, let's get some Chinese on the way home instead of having the prepared meal that was waiting. Why, why, why? Is it not bad enough yet that I've got recurrent yeast infections because of my diabetes? Is the fact that I can't breathe as well as I should even as I sit here because the size of my stomach impinges on my ability to expand my lungs not enough? What will be enough to make this insanity stop???
Yes, I could call Dr. Angelique back (she's called several times to practically beg me to do so), but I'm just not feeling it. I don't want to talk and talk and talk about why I eat when I shouldn't, when I'm not hungry, on days ending in "y". Please no more talk. Talking isn't getting me anywhere and it just doesn't feel right to me. I want action. I want to do things that will make me feel better about myself and my body so that I want to do the right things for my health. Not sure what fits that criteria, but I need to dig around a little more. Need to talk to TCB about it, too. I know that he knows that I need to change my habits, but I'm not giving him enough information to help me out.
Blah blah blah blah blah. Too much talk, not enough action. Go and get ready for work, Slacker!!!
OK, so I've come to a decision, or so I think. I'm going to turn the comments off from now on and write as though no one's reading (which may or may not be true at this point). I need to be able to put my thoughts into writing because it's very therapeutic, but I just don't want to worry about how clever I'm being or whether it reads well or who I might offend. I have an eating disorder, I suffer from sometimes-debilitating depression, and I'm starting to see some signs of panic attacks and social anxiety disorder, too...yet I can look perfectly "normal" to the outside world and I'm someone who very much values appearances and the keeping up of same.
So, what we're talking about here is a little game of "Pretend". I'm going to pretend that no one but me is seeing what I'm writing and both of you are going to pretend that you don't see me having my little breakdowns and writing the same exact thing that I wrote back on July 25, 2003. Everyone's happy. Well, OK, it's probably just me that's happy because, honestly, what are you getting out of the deal???
Ready, steady, go!
p.s. If something that I write sparks something deep and important inside you, I apologize. Wait, no, that's not what I meant! What I meant to say was that I still welcome any emails you might be moved to send and my turning off comments doesn't mean I want to be a hermit. Quite the contrary. I love conversing with folks who have something to say...I just don't want anyone feeling that they need to comment or that I'll be offended if no one writes anything. If there's something you think I need/ought to know, fire off an email and I'll reply as soon as I've had time to contemplate a response. (Don't know my email address? Click on the "Email" button near the top of the page on the left side.)
