Body

I tried to sleep, but I have this blog entry forming in my head. It's nagging and keeping me awake. I'm afraid if I sleep on it, it'll be distorted by tomorrow morning.

I've been thinking about this for some time. Probably since that really unflattering picture of me went up on ACF. This whole being fat, thing. Lets just get this right out in the open, if it was a mystery before. I am. I'm big, heavy, thick, rubenesque, lush, curvy, fat, however you like to describe it, I'm it. I wear a size 20. I can't shop in normal stores, I have to go to the plus size sections. I have a 38" waist. My measurements, in fact, are 40DD, 38, 42. I'm 5 foot 8. Try and add all that up in your head, and try not to hurt yourself doing it.

I wear good clothes, and I make extra sure theyr'e flattering. I spend a lot of time thinking about clothes. I love clothes, and I really hate to see people poorly dressed. Clothes really can make a person.

Lets take this a step further, and really pull out some imagery. I've got wide football player shoulders, big upper arms, and big tits. I'm young and I have great posture, so they stand up, and point forward still, I get a lot of compliments about them, and I like showing them off. I have a faint waistline, and hips...well, no hips. If I was thin, they'd be described as "boyish" but, I'm not. So, the overall effect is rather columnar. Well, a column with huge tits. My lower legs and thighs are still tight, and I like to think of them as powerful. They're not covered in cellulite, and you don't have to look to hard to see muscle definition. In fact, my calf muscles ripple when I walk. I like looking at my legs, when I walk, I think it's pretty sexy. I keep them tanned, tattooed, and tight, and I like to show them off. In the past few years, though, I'm developing a nice layer of fat, around the back of my thighs. I can't see it, so no biggie, but, it's there. I have a round, ample belly, which is my second least favorite area (we'll get to my least favorite in a sec) It's a point of issue for me, because they design girl's shirts, so that the hemline bisects it, and you get this nice roll of flab, hanging out. I combat that, by wearing a lot of skirts, which skim right over the problem area, or, men's tee shirts, which cover it up. My ass is strange. Out of clothes, it's cute, little, and round. In clothes, it's totally flat. I have a few pairs of jeans that do it justice, but mostly, it's forgettable.

My face, though. I talked about that a little before, but, my face really pisses me off. I feel like that "two faced chick" from Seinfeld. I look good in one light, but not the other. I have good face days, and bad. I have long straight hair, that reaches my lower back, and short little bangs. I have a widow's peak, and a very pointy little chin, with a slight cleft, that make a perfect heart shape. In between, are some nice arched eyebrows (I get complimented on my eyebrows a lot, for some reason) almond shaped green eyes, a rounded pug nose, huge full cheeks, pouty soft lips with a very defined bow, and my pointy chin. Framing all that is a nice layer of fat. That I hate. I really really hate it. It shows up when I don't want it to, in pictures. I can work on my abs, and keep that ample belly high and tight. I can do lunges and leg lifts to keep my shit toned. I can lift, and stuff for my arms, but what the fuck am I gonna do about all this face fat? Even when I was thin, I had face fat.

So, there we go, there's an honest, in depth description of myself. Take it without bitterness, without conceit, without self deprecation, without neediness. It's observation, inventory, and acceptance.

Accept it, or don't, but that's what this entry is about. My acceptance, and the things that shake it.



Lemme start with being a fat kid. I wasn't fat till about 5th grade. As a matter of fact, from when I was born, till about 2nd grade, I was severely underweight. I weighed 3 lbs 8 oz, when I was born. I have very fine bones, and a small frame. I was downright angular, when I was a kid. We moved to NJ, when my dad and mom got divorced, and my mom stopped being Mrs. Domestic, and started being Miss Catch-Me-A-Man. She stopped cooking all together, and I subsisted largely (pun! HAH!) on grocery store brand frozen dinners, generic canned pasta dishes, ramen noodles, government subsidied food (gub'ment cheese stains your teeth yellow.) and, the occasional Polish meal from my grandmother.

I am not going to be one of those blame laying fat people, but it is what it is. I would go days without meat and vegetables, and eat whole pots of mashed potatoes with butter, for dinner. I developed deplorable habits, and food addictions when I was a child, and I'm only just getting over them now.

So, where was I...5th grade, right. That was when I first started getting teased about weight. Before then, I got singled out, because of my accelerated learning, and being in the G&T classes (gifted and talented). Add fat to bookish, and you have a kid's worst nightmare. I got bullied daily, from 5th grade on. I would sit on the playground, reading, and certain kids would mosey on over, and pick a fight with me, just because of what I was wearing, or, shit, for no reason at all.

Let me share a few horror stories, for posterity. I've never committed any of this to print, before, but I think I'm ready to. Once, I was at the local park, (I used to live there, just about, it was a block away from my house, and sprawling acres of alone places...digressing) and, I was by myself on a tire swing, standing up, and leaning on the chain, sorta swinging lazily. I didn't hear them, but this whole group of kids from my school came up behind me. I thought I was alone. I one swift motion, they knocked me off the swing, and whipped my pants down. "PANTS" they did it to everyone. Only, that day...I was wearing these special underwear my mom got me, to hold my tummy in. They were these huge granny panties. I've never worn huge underwear since. It took me (and them) almost a year to get over it. I feel shamed, and choked up typing it out now. I was 11. There was the name calling, the comments, the bullshit. Kids would look for things to insult me about.

In 8th grade, I went through the classic scene. One day at lunch, Popular Hot Guy came over to me, and was like "hey, are you going to the prom?" (we had an 8th grade prom) I was like "probably" He said "wanna go with me?" I flushed...because he really was good looking, and I thought, one of the nicer people around. He'd never given me a problem before, he generally ignored me...so, I'm thinking, ooh, lucky break, right? "Sure, I'd like that" He said (and I'll never forget it to this day, so help me god) "I bet you would, haha, but what makes you think I'd want to go with your lardass?" He moseyed back to his friends, and they all had a good chuckle. (semi-related side note: He spent time in jail, later on. He now lives with his baby momma, in her daddy's house, and get this, she's a porker. Gogo karma! I love living in a small town.)

That's enough torturing myself. There was a lot. I got into about 14 fights between 5th and 8th grade. All over stupid nonsense. I was such a doormat, too.

Toward the end of 8th grade, I started evolving, though. I started hanging out with the boys. The really smart boys, the fucked up ones, the poor kids, the metalheads, the nerds, freaks, etc. We all started listening to metal around the same time. My best buddy Phil had tourettes syndrome. This guy Artie that I used to hang with, was voted 8th grade validictorian, but, he got busted smoking pot on school grounds a week before graduation, heh. 8th grade. So, yeah, we all sort of developed a rep. I did wind up going to the prom, with this kid, who later became my first boyfriend. We all stood in the hallway in our socks, and bare feet, them in their rented tuxes (for some reason they all wore tails. Pretty hot, and strange) and drank out of a shared stolen pint ofJack Daniels. Slagging on the popular kids, getting drunk, and requesting Metallica songs. Good times good times.

That summer was awesome, I lost my virginity, ran wild, and took ownership of my self. I started winning fights. I started dressing like the boys, in flannels and denim, and I learned how to skate. I stole a Mongoose, and learned how to work on it. I biked, and skated, and fucked around. By the time 9th grade rolled around, I was a full on asskicking metal chick. I went to high school, with a new attitude, and new identity. I grew a few inches, and leaned out. I sprouted breasts, and got (meager) hips. My hair grew out (in 8th grade, I had a bowl cut) so, I stopped looking like a boy, and started playing with them. When I left 8th grade, I left the insults behind. I swear to god, I never was insulted about my weight after that. Just didn't happen. I barely got into fights, and, our crowd was considered "scary". So, yeah, I outgrew the fat insults, and I lived it up.

Went on like that for all of my teens. Starting at 13. Fast forward to age 20. I settled down, and gained weight. Worked nights, ate at a diner every single night, at 10 p.m. Shit food, too, gravy fries, cheesesteaks, just, the worst shit. I gained 40lbs in 2 months. The first time I couldn't get my size 14 jeans to button, I was hysterical. I cried all night, we didn't wind up going out, I hid in the bedroom sobbing. The mister convinced me, that all women mature, and he assured me that my body was just changing, as I evolved into a woman. Yeah, bullshit. I got pregnant 2 months later, and by then, I gained fully 80 lbs. After I had my son, I was all but bedridden for a few months, due to major complications, and I never lost that weight. Two years later, I had pneumonia, that went untreated, for a month, and bronchitis for over a year. Long story short, major scar tissue in my lungs, and I couldn't walk between rooms, without getting winded. Hello another 40 lbs.

I've always been active. The health problems laid me up, and I went into the worst depression of my life. During all this weight gain, the mister assured me that I was still his goddess, etc, still beautiful, but I was very hard on myself. God, I was so depressed. Right around that time, too, Tom killed himself, and the whole 9-11 thing, I just wasn't happy for a whole year. Just thinking about it is making me want to cry. I was a size 24.

Somehow, I got out of that, did two more semesters of school, then the house thing happened. I didn't have time to wallow in my own self pity, after that, I was too busy worrying about being homeless. The beginning of this year, the mister and I decided to make some changes. He went on a full on diet. Lost almost 90 lbs. I didn't go on any diet, but I started eliminating poisons from my own regimen. No junk food, no refined sugar, hydrogenated shit, no more crap. No more shit food. Not a diet, but, a descision. I woke up, one day, at my mom's house, after I tested my blood, on her diabetes thing. My blood sugar level was astronomical. Up there around "borderline diabetic". I dropped 40 lbs, like *that* without even trying. I'm still not trying. I'm training myself, though. I work out now, I do basic yoga and pilates, and I can do 3 miles on treadmill at 5 mph, without wheezing. It's a good feeling, to be out of breath, but not ready to collapse and die, seeing stars. I do dozens and dozens of reps with 15 lb weights, daily.(I know, sounds like nothing, but I couldn't go get the mail without having to catch my breath. Thank you pneumonia.) I love the control of pilates and yoga, I love feeling my body elongate, and controling myself that way. I like the power involved, and the concentration. When I first started, I felt like an akward oaf, now I'm getting more graceful.

I still eat, I don't deny myself much, but the difference is (and there's a big one) food isn't like IT anymore. My day used to revolve around meals. Now, I make other stuff more important. Food addiction is a hard one to kick, because you have to eat to live. People don't need to smoke to live. You have to go out of your way to get cigarettes. Food, there's food everywhere. I have to cook three meals of it, a day, at least. I used to work in kitchens professionally. I LOVE FOOD. I read cookbooks, for LEISURE. Food science and chemistry is a major hobby of mine. It's unavoidable, so I had to change my mindset. It's working, slowly. Slowly.

So, this is where I'm at now. Acceptance, progress, change. I'm sort of meeting myself half way here. I was sick of being a slug, so I'm changing that. I'm less about losing weight, and more about getting healthy. I've accepted my size, and for the most part, how the world views me. Frankly, I think fat is sexy, on me, and on other people. I love the way my skin feels, and the generousness of my hips. I run my hands over my belly, and like that roundness. I feel fertile, and lush, and goddesslike. I'm adding grace and strength to that, and I feel good, and I feel like I look good. I'm owning my fat, once again.

They saw my picture a few weeks ago, on ACF. First time I've heard nasty, bullying barbs about my weight, since I was 13. Thirteen years, and the insults have come full circle. It doesn't hurt, anymore, though, not like it used to. It used to lessen my self worth, when I was young. I felt like a lesser person. It hurt, it made me hate, and it made me want to isolate myself, and fight, and I did. Now, I'm a fighter, and I hate, still. I look down on those people, like they looked down on me when I was a kid. It feels, now, though, that these "grownups" have to insult my appearance, because they have nothing else. They can't touch my logic, or my personality. They have to go for cheap, easy shots, and attack my size. How...8th grade, of them. I wonder, though, would they do it in a real life setting? Would they attack someone they worked with, in such a way? Do they yell at the girl behind the counter for screwing up an order, and call her a fat bitch? Some people do, actually. When I got into that brawl with my contractor, the first insult out of his mouth was (again, till the day I die, I'll never forget this) "fat psycho cunt" then "fat dike bitch"

Now, though, it's less about me, and more about society. Is this what it's about? Is that all people see? That's one thing I'm still having a hard time coping with. What people see, when they see me. The fat is always a first impression, I see it in people's eyes, in the split second, when we first meet. It's like "hello fat, hello Lisa" Fat first, Lisa second. I make up for that, though. I look eccentric. I try extra hard to be 'different' in other ways. I try to be extra learned, and extra super witty. I have a great sense of humor. All these things, I do to eradicate that first impression. It's my arsenal of self-protection, my way of standing out.





This entry was a long time coming. I've been dancing around it, for awhile. It feels good to pour it all out. I think I can sleep well, again.