i'm phat
Happy am I who can say that, though I've had "body issues," I've never become the sufferer of some kind of mental disease pertaining to my appearance. I have what I believe can be called a soft spot for such people.
By the time I was a 3rd grader I was spherical. A huge ball of non-muscle mass. Or at least that's what I felt like the summer before I entered the 4th grade. That was the summer (as I remember it) that I spent at my grandmother's house (I'd actually been living with my grandmother, my father's mother, since the summer before, all through out my 3rd year in elementary school, 'cause mom was having money trouble and couldn't take care of me) under strict supervision (as far as my diet) by her and my dad. Their opinion that I was this ballooning child-thing is what I believe led me to believe such, though now I can honestly say I was just a bit pudgy. Though the weight I had put on was enough to illicit concern from my dad, who in his 40s now is lamenting his own weight gain with talks of "getting back in shape." Which is met with looks from me suggesting he keep his ass quiet before he hurt himself. Anyway, it's still a running a joke in my family. How I've been thin ever since that summer. How I've maintained some kind of diet to keep myself from ballooning again, which isn't completely untrue. Whenever my lil' brother and I are talkin' smack to each other he'll mention how he can still remember me from when I was "fat." I think those jokes (at least partly) are what kept me lookin' at what I ate and how I ate since that summer ended. I truly never wanted to hear those types of comments about me again.
It was strange how they had developed, too, those comments. I was born highly Asthmatic and had trips to intensive care units before I even began school. My mother told me that she believed my love of dairy products was born from being given ice cream whenever I asked for it when I was laid up during hospital stays. That kind of eating wasn't reserved for hospital beds though. My mom was always okay with me being a finicky eater and fed me what I wanted when I wanted, as long as it wasn't fast food. Her mom (who passed away when I was in middle school I think) was even better. She'd feed any goddamn thing I wanted, haha. Lucky Charms three or five times a day? Go for it! This kind of eating, and my penchant for staying indoors practically immobile (reading, writing, playing video games and being a dork in general) led to the weight gain, I think, and I'm pretty sure I probably started eating more when I had to live apart from my mom for the first time and moved into my grandma's place. Then the comments came; and ogling of my waistline; and the watchful eye of my helpings, and so on.
I spent 'the summer of weight loss' being very aware of everything I ate, partly out of induced fear that I was huge and unhealthy and partly because of the things I had to tell my dad every day. What I ate, how much and such. Every day. Also a daily ritual was me being ejected from the house. It was almost funny. My dad would call from work and make sure my grandmother had kicked me out. My dad was under the impression that by doing this it would force me to, perhaps, make new friends and "find things to do," like football or some kind of activity that'd help me shed weight. It worked too. Know what I did that summer?
- Shoplifted (only got caught once or twice, always escaped)
- Stole bikes (didn't keep any, my father would've killed me)
- Got into more fights than ever (my friend was not a popular fellow, and I hadn't befriended many kids while riding away on their bikes or stealing their money/property)
There was a very peculiar young lad who lived down the block from my grandmother who'd I'd made sure to avoid my entire year of 3rd grade 'cause, to be frank, he scared the shit out of me. He actually became my best friend for that summer. He lived with both of his parents, who worked, and two very fucking large dogs. Every day I'd walk to his house when I got kicked out, opened his door with the "hidden" spare key and wake him up. We'd then go about wreaking whatever havoc could be wreaked that day and I'd return home at sunset, when my dad would allow me again to enter. I was not allowed back into that house until the sun hit the horizon, apart from trips to the kitchen or the bathroom.
Fun, fun times.
I don't hold anything against my dad and grandmother, the latter of which I can truly attest to having had nothing but good intentions at heart, but they did leave me with a voice in my head. It's the voice that makes me unsatisfied with my current 'shape.' I was a veritable toothpick for a number of years and had gotten used to that. My current, actually healthy, average physique is still new to me. I miss my much flatter tummy.
Y'know what tripped me the fuck out, though? When my dad and the family came up in Feb. they, of course, had comments. "You look like you've put on some weight/muscle. You look good!" I almost shat a brick. That was from my dad. I've put on weight... and this is good? Fuck you! Hahaha. I let that go pretty quick though. I understand now that comments about weight, shape and size, are always relative to when they're given, and may be completely misconstrued by the recipient. Which is why I don't compliment people in regards to their body image. In addition to your comment being misunderstood, it may actually be understood completely, but that too can have adverse affects, 'cause this person could be struggling with a voice of their own telling them to do horrendous shit to their bodies.
I have to say, though, some people need to learn how to take a fucking compliment!
Hhhmm, I think that's all I've got in regards to that. I like new topics. My apologies, dear eiaboca, for not having a question to ask you or some kind of subject matter for your request. I'm bad at coming up with things like that; but I am really good at completely inappropriate comments and questions, so maybe soon I'll give you one of those! Haha. Though I'd like to reiterate your request for my own LJ friends.
Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don't blog about, but you'd like to hear about, and I'll write a post about it.
My big sister Ebony (don't worry though, Ebbey, I won't pigeon hold you :P) recently wrote about being frustrated about being just one thing to people. Being relegated to just one facet of your entire person is always a shitty position to be placed in. I'd hope to never do that to anyone, but if I were to slip up I'd hope they'd confront me about it.
Somewhat relating to that, I'm writing my lil' sister Genesis a letter. Out of all my siblings I think she and I are probably the most similar in personality but I cannot say that I know her very well at all. :(