The Weird Kid
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Cleopatra
The problem with being told you suffer from denial is that you can't deny it.
Therapist says she hasn't been trying to make me feel like an asshole these past months, at least not for recreational purposes. She has been trying to pull me out of denial.
I immediatly think of my sister, how she blithely, humorlessly makes fun of fat women, unattractive people, losers. Things I couldn't do, at the very least, because I haven't earned the priviledge. And my sister...she's fatter than the fat women and less successful than the losers. But she won't see that. Absolutely can't.
She's in denial, not me. HA.
I demand Sean tell me I'm great, good, above average. That he doesn't want to be fed meals, that he's happy that the clothes are clean no matter that they are piled on the floor, that the house is so much cleaner than I've ever kept it, no matter what it really looks like. And that eating out doesn't count or cost if the get the food from a drive-thru window, and since I buy clothes from Goodwill I am frugal, deprived even.
And that's just the easy admissions. God knows what I haven't faced yet.
So I'm viciously kidding myself and forcing him along and I fucking hate the truth and fucking hate feeling like a loser. Sometimes my denial gets me out of bed in the morning, lets me love my kid, lets me go to sleep at night.
Eight years ago our wedding photos came in the mail. I cried and cried. I've thrown most of the two full print albums away. Saved some pictures of friend's and family. Not of me. I was 5ft2, weighed 230 pounds, but no one had told me I was fat.
I didn't know.
"Feel it, suffer it, or you won't fix it."
Oh fuck off.
Therapist says she hasn't been trying to make me feel like an asshole these past months, at least not for recreational purposes. She has been trying to pull me out of denial.
I immediatly think of my sister, how she blithely, humorlessly makes fun of fat women, unattractive people, losers. Things I couldn't do, at the very least, because I haven't earned the priviledge. And my sister...she's fatter than the fat women and less successful than the losers. But she won't see that. Absolutely can't.
She's in denial, not me. HA.
I demand Sean tell me I'm great, good, above average. That he doesn't want to be fed meals, that he's happy that the clothes are clean no matter that they are piled on the floor, that the house is so much cleaner than I've ever kept it, no matter what it really looks like. And that eating out doesn't count or cost if the get the food from a drive-thru window, and since I buy clothes from Goodwill I am frugal, deprived even.
And that's just the easy admissions. God knows what I haven't faced yet.
So I'm viciously kidding myself and forcing him along and I fucking hate the truth and fucking hate feeling like a loser. Sometimes my denial gets me out of bed in the morning, lets me love my kid, lets me go to sleep at night.
Eight years ago our wedding photos came in the mail. I cried and cried. I've thrown most of the two full print albums away. Saved some pictures of friend's and family. Not of me. I was 5ft2, weighed 230 pounds, but no one had told me I was fat.
I didn't know.
"Feel it, suffer it, or you won't fix it."
Oh fuck off.
posted by Imez at 5:46 PM
2 Comments:
A year and a half ago I wrote myself two notes - one I stuck in my wallet and one I stuck next to the speedometer in the dash of my car. They said, "You are a fat fuck. Quit eating scones at Starbucks and get out of the fucking car you FAT FUCK." It made Jim laugh and say, "Oh come on - don't be mean to yourself." But it didn't make me laugh. It made me embarrassed for myself and I quit eating scones three times a day when I was driving around in the car, bored.
I know what that feel it suffer it bit means. Jim thought I was being mean, but I was just the only one being honest.
I wonder how to stop this destructive denial. I mean for myself, not you.
I don't know.
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