Closet Confidential
So I've been depressed.
For reasons, mostly. Which is to say, some of it is circumstance and some of it is because depression happens. It's whatever.
Not gonna lie, though, a lot of it is body stuff. I had such a hard time losing the weight that I gained during the worst of the Kinglet stuff; then just as I started finally losing I got sick, really sick, and lost all momentum.
Weirdly, though, I didn't gain any weight during my actual sickness--just after, when I started trying again. For no apparent reason.
So now I'm back to pretty much where I started, and I feel like... fuck. I have no control over anything, my body is one big betrayal of pain and mush.
Also, I feel bad about feeling bad about my weight in an era when so many beautiful fat/curvy women are fighting stigma and the right to reclaim their bodies as something to be proud of full stop. Like who am I to put this much value on my size when I would not do that to anyone else. But the fact remains that I DO, so I tell myself all the reasons why for me it's a choice, none of which are really relevant here (except for the chin thing, which is very relevant because fat women without chins are rarely considered beautiful, and that's really what haunts me in the mirror, but that's another conversation altogether...)
But anyway, also also, I'd hoped (reasonably) to have lost a decent amount of weight by now--I have an appearance this weekend that I was (am?) really looking forward to, only now I have to roll in at, if not my highest non-pregnancy weight on record, pretty damn close.
And then Anthony Bourdain killed himself--which hurts on a personal level, which is surprising, but I don't even have the energy to unpack that because in the wake of yet another celebrity suicide the online discussion of fighting the stigma just pulls up so much bad shit for me, because I can't help but see most of it as so much hot air.
Case in point, tonight I lost my oldest friend, who was more concerned with the one hypothetical person whose life might be saved by all the sharing of hotline #s than she was, in practice, with my private expression of pain, But I mean, whatever, friends are illusion anyway.
Except now I have to pack for this appearance and I just... I can't. Because not only am I fat and ugly and undeserving of all the things, my heart is broken.
But somehow I have to get it together, anyway. Depression hasn't beat me yet, not even through far darker days than this. It's certainly not going to win today.