Fuck Yes I'm Going to Write About This Shit. You Can Go Fuck Yourself
So I had a fight with my mom. About the same topic yet again. I'm fat, therefore I am going to die and she will be sad and it will be all my fault because I'm the one who got fat.
Afterwards, she told me You have a pattern. We talk about this and then you go on your blog or your twitter and post all about this. So go ahead. I give you permission. Go talk about this online because in the end, you know I'm not the only one who sees it. You look worse than you did when I saw you in November. I'm just the only one who cares about you enough to tell you to your face.
Well you know what. Ta-dah, now you can feel self righteous indignation because I'm (in your words) 'misrepresenting you as a bitch to the people who read my blog'. All one of them. You know what else? I *know* you aren't the only one who notices that I'm a fucking disgusting fat ass. You know why? Because I am the one who sees myself in the mirror. I am the one who feels disgusting all the fucking time because I am fat. I am the person who used to be a freaking college athlete and, you know what? I don't even recognize myself in the mirror! My friends don't recognize me. I am embarrassed to see people I knew in college, people I knew in high school, people I knew at past jobs. Because they couldn't pick me out of a group of two, I look so different. I didn't want to go to half of my interviews because it would force me to go 1) Shopping (scourge of all fat asses), 2) Show my (extremely fat) face in public. I don't even use recent photos when I join online groups because I can't stand the thought of people knowing me like that. It's also part of the reason why I deleted Facebook. I can't face myself in front of everyone I've ever known as a fattie. So I get it. I. GET. IT.
But you know what doesn't help me out? Pointing this out to me every time I see you. First of all, you spent my entire childhood whispering in my ear like a conspiracy buff every time a "fat person" walked by.
Omg, look how fat she is. Look at her knees, they are so gross. How does she stand her thighs rubbing together like that. Do you think it was hard getting into those pants this morning. Michelle Oh-BAM-UH has a big ass, I'm sick of looking at her jigglers. I didn't know you could get cellulite on your arms. Look at how nasty the lady looks in her swimsuit, blaugh! What a hog, look at that hog! Did you notice Mrs Benjamin has a big butt. Look at the thunder thighs on that girl (barf noise). There's this lady at work who wears stretch pants with flowers on them, they are and 1cm big but when she puts them on, they stretch to like 4cm, like totally gross.
My whole life you're comments pertaining to fat people have pretty much equated to fat people are gross because they are bad and lazy. It's like fat people are merely the sum of their morally objectionable shortcomings (Paraphrased from this amazing Jezebel article that couldn't have been published on a more appropriate day). When you constantly point out that I'm overweight (again, no fucking duh I'm overweight), those 30 years of constant judgement come ROARING back to me. What I hear is You are lazy. You have no willpower. You should be ashamed of yourself for being fat. There is something inherently wrong and bad about you because you are fat. Everything that is bad in your life is happening to you because you are fat. How, I ask you, does this help me to be thin? You know what? It doesn't. Instead it just throws one more wrecking ball at my already shattered self-esteem. Because that's what these past 5-6 years have been. Almost everything that has happened since college has done nothing but smash my self-confidence into the ground like used cigarette butt.
And every time you or Ryan talk to me about losing weight, it's like you are adding one more pound of damage. And you insult me when you tell me that you are only telling me this stuff for my own good. That you are only concerned about my health. That you can't go one conversation without mentioning somebody's (mine) blood pressure (which btw is a fucking perfect 118/72 EVERY. SINGLE. GOD. DAMNED. TIME). Your 'concern' is merely thinly veiled disgust. It's none of your fucking business. And you know what else isn't helpful? This weird emotional black mail bull shit you pull.
I come from your body. I am a part of you. You gave up coffee and medicine and alcohol so that you could have a healthy child, me. You put up with all the crap that comes along with raising a child, me. You taught me good eating habits and exercise habits. You taught me how to follow God (completely different rant here). How dare I be fat! So basically, I shouldn't be fat because my horribly disgusting, offensive, morally corrupt fatness reflects poorly on you. Well get the fuck over yourself. Oh, and to compare me to a drug addict and you to the parent of a drug addict is just fucking retarded.
And what the most frustrating part is? I don't want to be fat. But getting there is a rough road. It is an especially tough road if you travel all the time. If your diet is dictated by what you can find in a restaurant, or running between airport terminals, or at 1130 at night because that's when you finally got into town after traveling, literally, all day. And if you can barely find time for eating (which is a biological necessity), when do you find time to work out. Mix that together with a job that expects you to be working 60hrs per 40hr work week, all while traveling and taking care of above listed tasks. Heap in the loneliness and disconnectedness you feel all the time because you have no time to meet people or make friends or have hobbies (aside from work and airplanes which are now your only hobbies), and the emotional scars you have from a pretty fucked up couple of relationships. Got that? Think you can handle all of that and still be thin?
Well, okay. Now, oh, let's also add Rheumatoid Arthritis to the mix. From now on whenever you work out, your fingers and forearms will swell to the point where you can't make a fist. Why don't you go lift some weights now? You get up from a chair and are stiff for 20minutes, like a goddamn old fucking lady. That will do wonders to self image, too, btw. You go for a walk because, hey that's good for your health. But if you don't walk long enough, there is really no weight loss benefit, but if you walk too long, you feel destroyed. So you tell your doctor about your pain and he gives you...PREDNISONE! Cuz that doesn't contribute to weight gain, noooo *sarcasm*. But oh, that doesn't work so now you are given chemo drugs. Yay! Try getting up tomorrow morning. And, wait, didn't you used to be a college athlete? Let's take all your injuries and replay them for you like a bad acid flashback. And, you liked to swim? That would be a great arthritis exercise because it's so low impact, go do that! Except...now you are so fat, none of the athletic swim suit makers even go up to your size and the freaking tents they sell to fat people (since fat people are all ashamed of their hideous bodies and want to wear the equivalent of a swim suit mu-mu that has fucking flowers on it) would come off if you tried lap swimming while wearing one.
I won't even mention the horribly traumatic shopping experience I had buying new clothes for my new job. Which you are also taking credit for because "you've been telling me to get into quality for years, and look how happy I am now that I did it, and wasn't mama right, always listen to your mama".
Boiled down: Let's take everything you've ever loved about yourself and your life and destroy it. NOW GO LOSE WEIGHT!
And I think the biggest insult to injury situation of this past weekend was: I went on a walk with you. I knew it was going to be embarrassing. I knew it was going to be a monstrous emotional challenge because I used to be able to rock that. I used to be able to do three goddamn pull ups. I used to be able to bench more than all my guy friends. People envied me. And I knew I was going to be chugging along behind my 52 year old mom who has looked better in a bathing suit than me since I was 11 and started growing lopsided, downward pointing, beanbag tits. But I was fucking game! And I got up and walked the fuck out of that shit as best I could.
And then you point out that a 52 year old woman should not have to slow down for her 30 year old daughter. No, you shouldn't. But I did it! I walked all 2.7 miles of that. And by the way. I frequently walk 2.7mi (which weirdly seems to be the circumference of every lake I've ever walk in any city), but I do in in Minnesota. It is flat here. Springtime here is not 80+ degrees. Nor are the paths I walk in direct, mid afternoon sunshine. No, I usually chose to walk in the evening. So for your information, the walk we did was 2.7mi of constant elevation changes in the brutal midday 85' heat of LaFayette, CA. And I did it. I could have declined and sat on the couch diddling myself. But I didn't.
Yet all you can say is that I shouldn't be slower than a 52 year old. That I need to exercise (which, btw, is exactly what I did when walking around that fucking lake with you). Then in the same breath you use to tell me I need to exercise, you tell me that you are scared for me when I exercise because you fear for my heart (again, perfect BP AND appropriate cholesterol so argument voided) and fear strenuous exercise will make my heart explode. And dear god, what must your liver look like! And what must your heart look like! And how hardened must your arteries be! You are 30 with the body of a 70 year old.
HOW DOES ANY OF THIS HELP ME LOSE WEIGHT???
I think the biggest mistake I made this past weekend was trying to confide in you about shit I feel I'm finally moving past. I tried opening up about the stupid idiots who bullied me in school. You tell me you wish you would have known so that you could have helped. You tell me you would have moved mountains, got teachers involved, kicked other parents' asses, blah blah blah. So I tell you about my swim coach.
I put my heart and soul into Swim Team the summer between Fresh/Soph year in high school. I wanted so badly to make the Junior Varsity swim team, instead of being relegated to the Frosh/Soph (aka beginners) team again. And my times were finally equal to the (slower) JV swimmers. Several of my exFrosh/Soph team friends had been promoted to JV (none of whom did Swim Team over the summer) and they told me to come with them to the JV meeting. So the Frosh/Soph team met on one side of the pool, and JV met on the other side. Rob Emery, JV Coach Extraordinaire, waited until all of us JVers sat down. He gave his little yay-rah JV lecture. Then he looks at me, points at me, and with a sweeping motion with his entire body and arm, points me to the Fresh/Soph team gathered at the other end of the pool. I was humiliated. Crushed.
And you said That's not bullying, he was just an asshole. Since when does a grown man humiliating a kid in front of a huge group of her peers, NOT count as bullying?? Your entire "I WOULD HAVE MOVED MOUNTAINTS" speech negated with that one fucking comment. Your exact words were That's not bullying, he was just an asshole. Assholes like that just motivate me. I would have held my head in the air and made sure I kicked all their JV asses! I would have beaten their times! See, that's just being competetive.
Then you asked me what my therapist said about all of this. You asked what my therapist said about you. I told you my therapist said you lack boundries. You did not see the irony in this exchange.
I don't even know why I try. Today when you yelled at me, and rehashed all this "Hey you're fat!" bullshit, I just can't even...I ignore my dad because I can't stand his idiocy any more. You wear the "Erin Doesn't Talk to Her Dad Badge" like a point of pride because I talk to you. Well, you know what. I do not feel like talking to you anymore. This move to Boston that I'm making for my new job (for which I apparently have you and God to thank because you prayed I would get the job and I did, OMG PROOF HE EXISTS RIGHT THERE!), well I am so tempted NOT to tell you my new address. To change my number and not tell you the new one.
But of course then you'd think I was dead, and you'd fly to Boston to come find me, and you'd show up at new place of work, and you'd make a goddamn scene, and, of course, it would be all my fault because I'm the one who cut you off, because I couldn't handle my emotions and I couldn't deal with you pointing out that I'm a grody fat ass, and then I guess we'd just be back to fucking square one.
Afterwards, she told me You have a pattern. We talk about this and then you go on your blog or your twitter and post all about this. So go ahead. I give you permission. Go talk about this online because in the end, you know I'm not the only one who sees it. You look worse than you did when I saw you in November. I'm just the only one who cares about you enough to tell you to your face.
Well you know what. Ta-dah, now you can feel self righteous indignation because I'm (in your words) 'misrepresenting you as a bitch to the people who read my blog'. All one of them. You know what else? I *know* you aren't the only one who notices that I'm a fucking disgusting fat ass. You know why? Because I am the one who sees myself in the mirror. I am the one who feels disgusting all the fucking time because I am fat. I am the person who used to be a freaking college athlete and, you know what? I don't even recognize myself in the mirror! My friends don't recognize me. I am embarrassed to see people I knew in college, people I knew in high school, people I knew at past jobs. Because they couldn't pick me out of a group of two, I look so different. I didn't want to go to half of my interviews because it would force me to go 1) Shopping (scourge of all fat asses), 2) Show my (extremely fat) face in public. I don't even use recent photos when I join online groups because I can't stand the thought of people knowing me like that. It's also part of the reason why I deleted Facebook. I can't face myself in front of everyone I've ever known as a fattie. So I get it. I. GET. IT.
But you know what doesn't help me out? Pointing this out to me every time I see you. First of all, you spent my entire childhood whispering in my ear like a conspiracy buff every time a "fat person" walked by.
Omg, look how fat she is. Look at her knees, they are so gross. How does she stand her thighs rubbing together like that. Do you think it was hard getting into those pants this morning. Michelle Oh-BAM-UH has a big ass, I'm sick of looking at her jigglers. I didn't know you could get cellulite on your arms. Look at how nasty the lady looks in her swimsuit, blaugh! What a hog, look at that hog! Did you notice Mrs Benjamin has a big butt. Look at the thunder thighs on that girl (barf noise). There's this lady at work who wears stretch pants with flowers on them, they are and 1cm big but when she puts them on, they stretch to like 4cm, like totally gross.
My whole life you're comments pertaining to fat people have pretty much equated to fat people are gross because they are bad and lazy. It's like fat people are merely the sum of their morally objectionable shortcomings (Paraphrased from this amazing Jezebel article that couldn't have been published on a more appropriate day). When you constantly point out that I'm overweight (again, no fucking duh I'm overweight), those 30 years of constant judgement come ROARING back to me. What I hear is You are lazy. You have no willpower. You should be ashamed of yourself for being fat. There is something inherently wrong and bad about you because you are fat. Everything that is bad in your life is happening to you because you are fat. How, I ask you, does this help me to be thin? You know what? It doesn't. Instead it just throws one more wrecking ball at my already shattered self-esteem. Because that's what these past 5-6 years have been. Almost everything that has happened since college has done nothing but smash my self-confidence into the ground like used cigarette butt.
And every time you or Ryan talk to me about losing weight, it's like you are adding one more pound of damage. And you insult me when you tell me that you are only telling me this stuff for my own good. That you are only concerned about my health. That you can't go one conversation without mentioning somebody's (mine) blood pressure (which btw is a fucking perfect 118/72 EVERY. SINGLE. GOD. DAMNED. TIME). Your 'concern' is merely thinly veiled disgust. It's none of your fucking business. And you know what else isn't helpful? This weird emotional black mail bull shit you pull.
I come from your body. I am a part of you. You gave up coffee and medicine and alcohol so that you could have a healthy child, me. You put up with all the crap that comes along with raising a child, me. You taught me good eating habits and exercise habits. You taught me how to follow God (completely different rant here). How dare I be fat! So basically, I shouldn't be fat because my horribly disgusting, offensive, morally corrupt fatness reflects poorly on you. Well get the fuck over yourself. Oh, and to compare me to a drug addict and you to the parent of a drug addict is just fucking retarded.
And what the most frustrating part is? I don't want to be fat. But getting there is a rough road. It is an especially tough road if you travel all the time. If your diet is dictated by what you can find in a restaurant, or running between airport terminals, or at 1130 at night because that's when you finally got into town after traveling, literally, all day. And if you can barely find time for eating (which is a biological necessity), when do you find time to work out. Mix that together with a job that expects you to be working 60hrs per 40hr work week, all while traveling and taking care of above listed tasks. Heap in the loneliness and disconnectedness you feel all the time because you have no time to meet people or make friends or have hobbies (aside from work and airplanes which are now your only hobbies), and the emotional scars you have from a pretty fucked up couple of relationships. Got that? Think you can handle all of that and still be thin?
Well, okay. Now, oh, let's also add Rheumatoid Arthritis to the mix. From now on whenever you work out, your fingers and forearms will swell to the point where you can't make a fist. Why don't you go lift some weights now? You get up from a chair and are stiff for 20minutes, like a goddamn old fucking lady. That will do wonders to self image, too, btw. You go for a walk because, hey that's good for your health. But if you don't walk long enough, there is really no weight loss benefit, but if you walk too long, you feel destroyed. So you tell your doctor about your pain and he gives you...PREDNISONE! Cuz that doesn't contribute to weight gain, noooo *sarcasm*. But oh, that doesn't work so now you are given chemo drugs. Yay! Try getting up tomorrow morning. And, wait, didn't you used to be a college athlete? Let's take all your injuries and replay them for you like a bad acid flashback. And, you liked to swim? That would be a great arthritis exercise because it's so low impact, go do that! Except...now you are so fat, none of the athletic swim suit makers even go up to your size and the freaking tents they sell to fat people (since fat people are all ashamed of their hideous bodies and want to wear the equivalent of a swim suit mu-mu that has fucking flowers on it) would come off if you tried lap swimming while wearing one.
I won't even mention the horribly traumatic shopping experience I had buying new clothes for my new job. Which you are also taking credit for because "you've been telling me to get into quality for years, and look how happy I am now that I did it, and wasn't mama right, always listen to your mama".
Boiled down: Let's take everything you've ever loved about yourself and your life and destroy it. NOW GO LOSE WEIGHT!
And I think the biggest insult to injury situation of this past weekend was: I went on a walk with you. I knew it was going to be embarrassing. I knew it was going to be a monstrous emotional challenge because I used to be able to rock that. I used to be able to do three goddamn pull ups. I used to be able to bench more than all my guy friends. People envied me. And I knew I was going to be chugging along behind my 52 year old mom who has looked better in a bathing suit than me since I was 11 and started growing lopsided, downward pointing, beanbag tits. But I was fucking game! And I got up and walked the fuck out of that shit as best I could.
And then you point out that a 52 year old woman should not have to slow down for her 30 year old daughter. No, you shouldn't. But I did it! I walked all 2.7 miles of that. And by the way. I frequently walk 2.7mi (which weirdly seems to be the circumference of every lake I've ever walk in any city), but I do in in Minnesota. It is flat here. Springtime here is not 80+ degrees. Nor are the paths I walk in direct, mid afternoon sunshine. No, I usually chose to walk in the evening. So for your information, the walk we did was 2.7mi of constant elevation changes in the brutal midday 85' heat of LaFayette, CA. And I did it. I could have declined and sat on the couch diddling myself. But I didn't.
Yet all you can say is that I shouldn't be slower than a 52 year old. That I need to exercise (which, btw, is exactly what I did when walking around that fucking lake with you). Then in the same breath you use to tell me I need to exercise, you tell me that you are scared for me when I exercise because you fear for my heart (again, perfect BP AND appropriate cholesterol so argument voided) and fear strenuous exercise will make my heart explode. And dear god, what must your liver look like! And what must your heart look like! And how hardened must your arteries be! You are 30 with the body of a 70 year old.
HOW DOES ANY OF THIS HELP ME LOSE WEIGHT???
I think the biggest mistake I made this past weekend was trying to confide in you about shit I feel I'm finally moving past. I tried opening up about the stupid idiots who bullied me in school. You tell me you wish you would have known so that you could have helped. You tell me you would have moved mountains, got teachers involved, kicked other parents' asses, blah blah blah. So I tell you about my swim coach.
I put my heart and soul into Swim Team the summer between Fresh/Soph year in high school. I wanted so badly to make the Junior Varsity swim team, instead of being relegated to the Frosh/Soph (aka beginners) team again. And my times were finally equal to the (slower) JV swimmers. Several of my exFrosh/Soph team friends had been promoted to JV (none of whom did Swim Team over the summer) and they told me to come with them to the JV meeting. So the Frosh/Soph team met on one side of the pool, and JV met on the other side. Rob Emery, JV Coach Extraordinaire, waited until all of us JVers sat down. He gave his little yay-rah JV lecture. Then he looks at me, points at me, and with a sweeping motion with his entire body and arm, points me to the Fresh/Soph team gathered at the other end of the pool. I was humiliated. Crushed.
And you said That's not bullying, he was just an asshole. Since when does a grown man humiliating a kid in front of a huge group of her peers, NOT count as bullying?? Your entire "I WOULD HAVE MOVED MOUNTAINTS" speech negated with that one fucking comment. Your exact words were That's not bullying, he was just an asshole. Assholes like that just motivate me. I would have held my head in the air and made sure I kicked all their JV asses! I would have beaten their times! See, that's just being competetive.
Then you asked me what my therapist said about all of this. You asked what my therapist said about you. I told you my therapist said you lack boundries. You did not see the irony in this exchange.
I don't even know why I try. Today when you yelled at me, and rehashed all this "Hey you're fat!" bullshit, I just can't even...I ignore my dad because I can't stand his idiocy any more. You wear the "Erin Doesn't Talk to Her Dad Badge" like a point of pride because I talk to you. Well, you know what. I do not feel like talking to you anymore. This move to Boston that I'm making for my new job (for which I apparently have you and God to thank because you prayed I would get the job and I did, OMG PROOF HE EXISTS RIGHT THERE!), well I am so tempted NOT to tell you my new address. To change my number and not tell you the new one.
But of course then you'd think I was dead, and you'd fly to Boston to come find me, and you'd show up at new place of work, and you'd make a goddamn scene, and, of course, it would be all my fault because I'm the one who cut you off, because I couldn't handle my emotions and I couldn't deal with you pointing out that I'm a grody fat ass, and then I guess we'd just be back to fucking square one.