The Weird Kid
Thursday, November 20, 2008
For Frequent Referral
The old reasons don't have as much kick anymore.
I can't, just can't, cover the wall around my mirror with dozens of pictures of Drew Barrymore's Guess Jeans campaign and say to myself when, "This. This!" That was 15 years old. 28lbs lost.
Can't keep a box wrapped in blue Victorian wrapping paper full of women and articles I cut from Shape Magazine, bronzed muscles and bikinis, and say, "Oh god, please, this." 18 years old. 80lbs gained.
I can't sit in the computer room at the library sorting through web pages of clothes I could wear, girls I could become, if only, until my tail-bone ached. That was 23 years old. 40 lbs lost.
Can't keep a scrapbook of plus-sized models looking devastingly perfect and pictures of things I could do, positions I could recline in and lengths I could wear, if only. 26 years old. 15 lbs gained.
Head down, eyes and ears covered. 29 years old. 30 lbs gained.
Now I am thirty, and know, or feel, that being not fat won't fix/change/free me. It is a shruggable, resigned knowledge. I won't become a fascinating fiction, I won't become a still captured moment that is perfect. I'm not happy to know it.
Thinness equated every door in the world popping open. Now I know pretty well which doors I'm going through. Mother door. Wife door. All the regular doors.
But still. Still I must.
Now my only picture is the bathroom mirror. The only place in the house I see my face. The only reminder. "Not this. Not this." Don't let this fraud perpetuate. This is not you. You are pretty. Find you out.
30 years old. 3 lbs lost.
I can't, just can't, cover the wall around my mirror with dozens of pictures of Drew Barrymore's Guess Jeans campaign and say to myself when, "This. This!" That was 15 years old. 28lbs lost.
Can't keep a box wrapped in blue Victorian wrapping paper full of women and articles I cut from Shape Magazine, bronzed muscles and bikinis, and say, "Oh god, please, this." 18 years old. 80lbs gained.
I can't sit in the computer room at the library sorting through web pages of clothes I could wear, girls I could become, if only, until my tail-bone ached. That was 23 years old. 40 lbs lost.
Can't keep a scrapbook of plus-sized models looking devastingly perfect and pictures of things I could do, positions I could recline in and lengths I could wear, if only. 26 years old. 15 lbs gained.
Head down, eyes and ears covered. 29 years old. 30 lbs gained.
Now I am thirty, and know, or feel, that being not fat won't fix/change/free me. It is a shruggable, resigned knowledge. I won't become a fascinating fiction, I won't become a still captured moment that is perfect. I'm not happy to know it.
Thinness equated every door in the world popping open. Now I know pretty well which doors I'm going through. Mother door. Wife door. All the regular doors.
But still. Still I must.
Now my only picture is the bathroom mirror. The only place in the house I see my face. The only reminder. "Not this. Not this." Don't let this fraud perpetuate. This is not you. You are pretty. Find you out.
30 years old. 3 lbs lost.
posted by Imez at 3:36 PM
15 Comments:
Three pounds is a lot more than zero pounds!
Girl, you kill me. Such good words, so painful to read sometimes.
Also, get out of my head.
(Three pounds rocks.)
three pounds lost is better than three pounds gained! do you want to just hit me right now? but really, congrats, because it is not easy. and you did this. and you are awesome.
Woohoo! Good start. We support you!
Be kind to yourself.
xo
You and I are...once again...on the same train of thought.
I wish I knew where it went.
And I'm proud of you, 3 pounds is an amazing start.
Skinny never made me happy.
You found the one true thing about happiness- there is no one true thing. Now as for those doors--do not trap yourself behind them--you will do no favors.
This is really wonderful.
me, too.
different ages, different amounts.
but me, too.
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