Advertisements
Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for October, 2011

I have an incredibly vivid, painful memory of someone who, in my eyes, resembles me so clearly that I can’t help but choke back a sob every time I think about her. I once got on a crowded bus after a day at college. I must have been sixteen or seventeen and I was having a bad day. Pretty much every day was a bad day at college, because I had to step out in public and in my fat suit I couldn’t take off and face people, an incredible effort I realise when I look back.

I sat next to a girl who took up most of the seat, but I didn’t take much notice of her. I was wrapped up in my own obsession to keep my arms tightly locked to my sides to avoid the size of my upper arms showing, but also careful not to push the fat out any further than it already was. I was just thankful that I got a seat so I could hide my thighs away from any eyes searching for their circumference. A couple of stops later she pressed the bell, and I stood up and moved to the aisle to let her pass.

She shuffled along the seat and stood up with an effort that made my heart sink. She was huge. Really, really big, and having not initially assessed how big she was, a rarity for me, I had to take an extra step back as she filled the aisle. As I backed away, my feet finding a step to another level, I cringed inside, wondering how she felt as I had to give her more room. I felt like I’d slapped her across the face, insulted her for her body, a part of her. She held onto the bars, clutching them as if by letting go she would fall into the sniggers that were emerging from the ignorant bastards below.

She tried to pull down her t-shirt as to cover the fleshy midriff that had appeared when she stood up, but didn’t trust her balance enough to be able to release her grip from the bars. I sat down. I could feel her need to cover herself, her obsession to hide her rolls of fat from the laughter, the whispers, and I hunched my shoulders involuntarily. I understood that she would rather have her stomach showing than falling in the aisle or on someone. Putting herself in a vulnerable condition, she would risk the utter humiliation of having to be helped up by several people, all struggling under her weight that really shouldn’t be on a human body. The disapproving, pitying looks would follow. The silent embarrassment for her felt by everyone with a heart.

I understood all of her. I understood her urges, her thought process. I understood why she didn’t bother to style her hair, or put on jeans instead of jogging bottoms. Why bother to make yourself look good when your body will never let you feel it?

And when she stepped off of the bus, it tilting slightly to accommodate her weight, I understood why she walked away, facing the ground, why she didn’t want to look anybody in the eye… for fear of confirmation that yes, she was obese and yes, it was frowned upon. Being obese makes you lazy, greedy, and repulsive. Your lack of control makes you subhuman, disgusting.

I agonised inside for her. I sat in a state of hatred; hatred for the laughter and hatred for the smugness I felt that someone was bigger than me. Because even though our weight was completely different, even though she must have weighed a good eight stone more than me, I still lived – live – my life like I am her. This moment tortures me, and I can only assume it tortures her more so.

After this moment, after I had got off the bus at an earlier stop so I could cry for her on the walk home, after I told my parents of the laughter, I picked up a book. I had to read anything, do anything to escape the sadness I felt for this girl. And, selfishly, the self-pity I felt for myself.

Emma

🙂

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

I’m feeling more positive this week. I’ve been thinking about Crystal Renn’s Hungry, I’ve started anti-depressants and although they haven’t kicked in, I know they will. They won’t make me happy all the time, but at least they’ll help to stop me going from fine one minute, sweating it out on the treadmill, to wallowing in the depths of despair, and sitting on my bed surrounded by empty chocolate wrappers and cereal bowls. This sadly happened, after graduation.

This week I’ve had a cold, and so I haven’t been able to exercise. Usually this would send me into a spiral of depression; I didn’t leave the house + I didn’t exercise + I ate what I wanted, normally = weight gain. I haven’t got on the scales to see if that’s true because after the ordeal of graduation, I feel like I just don’t need it.

I’ve come up with a bold new idea. I’m not going to measure my weight loss with the scales. I’m confiscating them, because when I was working out on the treadmill and trying to eat as well as I could, I gained 2lbs. I felt like my world had ended, yet again, because I had managed to get bigger when I put so much effort into getting smaller. I later discovered a lost piece of paper from a fortnight before in which I wrote down my measurements of upper arm, bust, waist, hip, bum, and thigh. I found I’d lost an inch on my upper arm and thigh.

If I had just found that piece of paper, which clearly justified my efforts, I wouldn’t have felt so horrible. Because really, what matters more, a number on the scales, or inch-loss? Inch loss is what’s actually visible. So every fortnight I’m going to measure myself with the tape measure, and every month check on the scales. I really hope this will help, after all, I’m trying things I’ve never tried before, so it’s got to be better than crumbling every time I see a number on a scale, right?

Emma

🙂

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: