dream (screaming and crying over the horror of plastic surgery) / I forget the horror of self-hatred
I was at a house (that I don't recognize) spending time with some [dream-only] friends, when four women walked in. They were very excited about the fact that they had all just been sliced open, had lipids suctioned out, and been sewed shut again. I was horrified but didn't say anything until they added that now their butts needed to be carved to match the front. Then I just EXPLODED, started yelling and crying and telling them how awful it is that they feel the need to chop open their bodies rather than change their minds about them, how they were perfect the way they were. They exploded right back, telling me that I was awful to try and make them feel bad about their choices. Which of course, wasn't my intent, I wasn't even thinking about them at that moment because I was so overwhelmed with the horror of it all. Then I felt bad that I didn't think about their feelings and apologized effusively, wracked with sobs, begging for forgiveness, actually on my knees, and they continued to say nasty things to me. I woke up in a mix of regret and anger that they wouldn't show forgiveness to someone who was genuinely sorry. I suppose if they had to acknowledge the fact that I didn't mean to hurt them, they'd have to consider that I had a motive other than spite for my ranting, and they'd have to wonder what that motive might be. Could it actually be overwhelming terror and sorrow? Would THAT mean that altering one's appearance through surgery (and its cheaper cousins, dieting and restrictive clothing) is a tragedy and travesty rather than a path to self/societal acceptance?
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I want to update this project with a newer photo set.
(see the comments)
Because I no longer suffer at ALL from being very-different-from-society's-ideal (aka "fat and ugly"), I forget just how much of a problem it is. I forget how I used to spend every second in public wondering what each person thought of how I looked. I forget how I used to think that every smile sent my way was a snicker at my expense, and every whisper I couldn't hear was a negative comment on my appearance. I forget how I used to wear clothes that smashed my belly flat and poked my breasts high and squeezed my bum tight. I forget how I used to be unable to eat in public for fear of being seen as a glutton. I forget how I used to be unable to eat much at all for fear of getting 'fatter.' I forget how I put random chemicals into my body to burn my fat while I slept. I forget how one parent mocked me and told me to forgo dessert and the other helped me buy weight-loss drugs and praised me when I looked slimmer -- even though I was a size 6 and 16 years old at the time. I forget how I felt guilty and ugly if I went to bed without having worked out that day. I forget how I wore baggy shirts most of the time because I didn't want to 'have to' hold in my belly (and under them wore those squeezy circulation-killing jeans just in case). I forget how I couldn't live with any freedom because I thought I was fat. And for all those reasons and more, I want to remember to speak up for all the people who suffer like I did, to tell them, "guess what? you can have fat and still love yourself! and still be loved! and desired! and still be fit! and most of all, be FREE FROM WORRY about judgment!"