We’re taking a break from the regularly scheduled autisms (I SWEAR that ME book post will be up very shortly) to talk to something near and dear to my heart.
There is probably some fat pretty close to my heart, right? I’ve never excelled at anatomy. But I know the body has fatty layers abounds. Anyways.
I recently tried a ketogenic diet. I wanted to lose weight. Most of my family was doing it, both parents, sister, brother in law, sister in law, and then me.
I quit after a week. I had the “keto flu” according to most keto-ers I know, and hey. No ill will to those who live and love keto. But when I lost substantial amounts of weight before this, I never went through a period of my body going into crisis mode.
I’m bipolar. I’m… fatigued in general every day. I know what dead feels like and let me tell you, this was advanced darkness.
We put so much folk wisdom into “listening to our bodies” but when it’s time to lose weight, shut the fuck up body, you’re the enemy.
I don’t want to fight food. I don’t want to wage war with my body. But that’s what I’ve always done.
I’ve always been fat, or so the story goes. Actually, I don’t want to play this game. 99% of my life I wasn’t fat. But 100% of my life I’ve been told I was.
Recently I brought this up to my mom. “No, you were never heavy.” I used to diet with her. I don’t want to direct and rage at her, though. She has her own fat-demons and no parent is pure enough to keep those from getting to her child.
And so, when I was a kid– probably 9 years old, maybe younger, maybe a little older– I told my parents I thought I was fat. I had that spindly prepubescent child body. I got mad that they wouldn’t believe I was fat.
I’m not sure who told me I was fat. It’s easy to blame the media, or my shitty gradeschool friends. But whatever it was, when I was just a little goddamned noodle, I thought I was fat. I wish I had a picture handy of what I looked like when I was 9, just to laugh.
When I was 11 my neurologist told me to lose weight. I think I was 11, might have been older. I don’t remember what my weight had to do with my sleep paralysis.
Here’s a reference photo from later. Homecoming dance, 9th grade of High School. Look how fat I was.
(I loved this dress. Still like the color, but the cut was not for me. I should really recreate it.)
Also can we derail to talk about who in the hell did my makeup? Someone actually put that red eyeshadow on me and said it looked good. It was probably the girl who insisted pink wasn’t my color. She probably did my foundation too.
But yes. Those are the deathfats right there. I think I probably weighed 150 pounds then, 5 foot 4. I remember getting teased by this shit-ass group of boys about how I had to weigh like 200 pounds.
I’m sincerely confused. I wore a size 8 then. I think. According to a BMI calculator that was only 5 pounds overweight.
I dieted a lot. I felt bad a lot. I got bullied a lot, by those same boys. I remember being mad when girls on the internet who said they weighed 120 thought they were fat. I remember being mad when anyone said they were fat if they were skinnier than me. I was fat.
It was around this time that I went to a psychiatric hospital for severe suicidal ideation. I gained a lot of weight (I want to say I peaked at 165 pounds) because they basically forcefeed you there. It was to make folks with eating disorders eat. I was mad. I didn’t have a disordered relationship with food or my body. I was fat.
I took archery classes when I was 16 years old. I was nervous about being athletic again, being so fat. I had taken a girls athletics class in 7th grade, where the coach said to my mom that she’d rather have a million me’s than a bunch of the naturally athletic girls. Because I tried. I sucked so much at running, and the hardest thing I’ve ever done was run a mile in just under 10 minutes. I sucked at everything. Because I was fat.
But anyways. I took archery classes. I worked to pull back the heaviest bow I could. Here I am with it, very extremely fat, but I always liked these photos because they made me “look skinny.”
God if I could jump in a TARDIS right now and shake that girl so hard. Also correct her form, but mostly shake her. And congratulate her on hitting that little ball in the far right corner.
Now it’s time for the SWIM SUIT CONTEST!!!
19 years old:
Angeries at fatphobia, here. Also pictured is a picture of me, 4 years old, with a hamster. I was so much happier when I was skinny and had a hamster.
(hamster could not be reached for comment)
That suit has a weird little slimming panel in it, but you could still see my thighs! And my arms! In all FATTY FAT FAT GLORY.
See, there’s a reason these are swimsuit pictures now, instead of weight-obscuring action shots and obligatory homecoming portraits.
I learned I was fat. No, I learned I was always going to be fat. I apparently had no choice in the matter. My weight would fluctuate but it would always be deemed fat by society, doctors, shitfucker boys in 7th grade, everyone.
You can tell me I’m not fat, but honestly I’m so done caring. You can say it’s for my health but the health that worries me the most is in my brain, and I wouldn’t be surprised if what’s hurting it is the constant ping-pong of “just lose weight” “but you look so pretty.” I’m trying to improve how I eat, but even when I eat the best, when I exercise the most, I still have doctors telling me to lose weight. I’m still panting after a few minutes of walking, and nobody will bother to figure out why I have trouble breathing because “it’s probably just an extra 10 pounds on your chest”
Honey a hundred pounds ago I was panting for breath as my classmates teased me in gym class. As my coach said that I tried harder than anyone else.
So if exerting myself further than anyone else has to, if dieting myself ragged more than anyone should have to, if all of that doesn’t get me to a weight that the world deems acceptable? If it doesn’t fix the problems everyone thinks are “just weight”, then why the fuck am I doing it?
I’m so done trying to lose weight actively. If it happens, it happens, but there’s otherwise no goddamn point.
I wanted to for my wedding, yeah. But. I tried on dresses a few months ago.
I think I can deal.