One thing that I think a lot of overweight people have in common is a fear of mirrors. In my case, I don't mind looking at my face too much, but I become uncomfortable when I have to see the rest of my body. When I stare at all of the rolls and lumps and bumps for too long, I begin to look so misshapen. My body is not tight and compact as our bodies are meant to be, but juts out and hangs down at all of these weird angles.
Unfortunately, I've been forced to look at my body a lot lately because they have full-length mirrors at PT — and I'm not going to work out for an hour with my eyes closed. I've gotten a bit more used to it, but some days, I want to bash the mirror in — like today.
I'm wearing a pretty, flowing skirt and a turquoise top that's a bit more fitted than what I usually put on. Now that I'm losing weight, I'm trying not to hide behind enormous, baggy things, and most of the time, I'm pretty confident. As I looked at myself this morning, though, I was horrified. I was lying back on one of the weight machines and my stomach just looked so WEIRD. It was flat on the bottom and then rolled up into this strange bump that resembled a mountain. I don't know if it was the angle that I was reclining in or what, but I looked as if I were about to give birth to an alien!
Ever since then, I've been very self-conscious of this shirt. I keep pulling at it and wondering if all of my fat rolls are sticking out, and if people are laughing at me behind my back. I'm beginning to feel a little better, but that's because I haven't had to see a mirror in a few hours.
One thing I'm definitely looking forward to as I lose more weight is to feel more comfortable in my clothes — and my own skin. I doubt that I'll ever full be rid of my lumps and bumps, but I'd like to learn to love the ones I have.
Showing posts with label body image. Show all posts
Showing posts with label body image. Show all posts
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Beware Of Boobs
While I was growing up, most of my girlfriends dreamed of having big boobs, but I was different: I already had them and I wished I didn't.
I think that at least some of my issues with my body began with my large breasts. I started developing when I was about eight years old and needed a bra by the time I was 10. I refused to wear one, though. Fourth grade was the year when we had to start changing in the gym locker room and I didn't want to look like a freak in front of the other girls. I wore an undershirt in place of a bra ... but that didn't work, because I looked like a freak, anyway, due to the fact that I was the only girl who had a woman's body. In fact, I can remember very vividly how one of the other girls announced, "Oh my God, you have like REAL boobs! You need a bra!"
Still, I refused to wear one until sixth grade. At this point, my friends and I were experimenting with makeup and wearing more grown-up looking outfits, so my bra was no longer a source of shame. In fact, I was rather proud of the way I looked -- probably one of the few times in my life when I have been, actually. I had a crush on the cutest guy in our class and I think he liked me back, even though he never admitted it because I was considereed a "brain" and he was a "jock." But during picture day, he took me aside and told me that I looked pretty -- and then eyeing my chest -- "like a real lady." I look like a complete dork in my picture, by the way, because I'm sporting a goofy, love-sick grin.
By high school, as you know, I had all kinds of issues with my weight and with eating, but I never minded having boobs. Mine were a perfect size, about a B-plus, and could fill out a shirt without being too big. Sure, I wanted to whittle myself away to nothing, but wanted my boobs to stay!
Then I began to gain weight and they started to become a real pain, literally and figuratively. As they expanded, they sagged, and my back ached. My shirts never seemed to fit right and my chest hung at an odd angle. Suddenly, I wished I weren't so well-endowed and could have a naturally thin, boyish figure.
These days, I have mixed feelings about them. As I lose weight, they're getting their normal non-saggy shape back, though I'm a bit concerned about how, at 36, my body will adjust to them. When I lose enough weight, will they hang there like pancakes? Will I need surgery? I hope not ... but I'm preparing for the worst.
Then there are times when they can be downright embarrassing, such as yesterday. I was wearing a V-neck T-shirt, so you could see a bit of my cleaveage; no big deal, right? Well, as I was eating my lunch, a grape fell into my chest and got lost somewhere in the cavernous expanse of my cleavage and my bra. I had to dig around to fish this thing out -- and of course, that's when one of my co-workers enters my office. I don't know if the person noticed, but I felt pretty silly feeling myself up!
Sure, it's a funny story now, but I can't say that I'll miss this sort of thing -- of being embarrassed by my body or having it humiliate me in ways I'd never expect. I'm sure that when I'm thinner, I'll still do embarassing things, but I'd at least like to have more control over it.
I think that at least some of my issues with my body began with my large breasts. I started developing when I was about eight years old and needed a bra by the time I was 10. I refused to wear one, though. Fourth grade was the year when we had to start changing in the gym locker room and I didn't want to look like a freak in front of the other girls. I wore an undershirt in place of a bra ... but that didn't work, because I looked like a freak, anyway, due to the fact that I was the only girl who had a woman's body. In fact, I can remember very vividly how one of the other girls announced, "Oh my God, you have like REAL boobs! You need a bra!"
Still, I refused to wear one until sixth grade. At this point, my friends and I were experimenting with makeup and wearing more grown-up looking outfits, so my bra was no longer a source of shame. In fact, I was rather proud of the way I looked -- probably one of the few times in my life when I have been, actually. I had a crush on the cutest guy in our class and I think he liked me back, even though he never admitted it because I was considereed a "brain" and he was a "jock." But during picture day, he took me aside and told me that I looked pretty -- and then eyeing my chest -- "like a real lady." I look like a complete dork in my picture, by the way, because I'm sporting a goofy, love-sick grin.
By high school, as you know, I had all kinds of issues with my weight and with eating, but I never minded having boobs. Mine were a perfect size, about a B-plus, and could fill out a shirt without being too big. Sure, I wanted to whittle myself away to nothing, but wanted my boobs to stay!
Then I began to gain weight and they started to become a real pain, literally and figuratively. As they expanded, they sagged, and my back ached. My shirts never seemed to fit right and my chest hung at an odd angle. Suddenly, I wished I weren't so well-endowed and could have a naturally thin, boyish figure.
These days, I have mixed feelings about them. As I lose weight, they're getting their normal non-saggy shape back, though I'm a bit concerned about how, at 36, my body will adjust to them. When I lose enough weight, will they hang there like pancakes? Will I need surgery? I hope not ... but I'm preparing for the worst.
Then there are times when they can be downright embarrassing, such as yesterday. I was wearing a V-neck T-shirt, so you could see a bit of my cleaveage; no big deal, right? Well, as I was eating my lunch, a grape fell into my chest and got lost somewhere in the cavernous expanse of my cleavage and my bra. I had to dig around to fish this thing out -- and of course, that's when one of my co-workers enters my office. I don't know if the person noticed, but I felt pretty silly feeling myself up!
Sure, it's a funny story now, but I can't say that I'll miss this sort of thing -- of being embarrassed by my body or having it humiliate me in ways I'd never expect. I'm sure that when I'm thinner, I'll still do embarassing things, but I'd at least like to have more control over it.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Larger Than Life
This weekend, my friend showed me a rather shocking news item: it was an interview with a woman named Donna Simpson from New Jersey who is striving to break the world record for "Fattest Woman." She is currently 600 pounds and aspires to weigh 1000 within the next two years. To make money, she runs a web site where people can watch her eating, and she has her husband and children's full approval. No, I am not kidding.
As disgusted as I am by this, though, I have to think: how much different from her am I really? Sure, I'm not exploiting myself nor am I going to such extremes to pack on the pounds, but I am aware of the damage I've done to my body. I've known all this time that I've been putting on the weight and I haven't successfully stopped it. So while we may gawk at this woman and exclaim, "But she's going to kill herself! What about her kids?" basically, I'm doing the same thing -- albeit in a more subtle manner.
I suppose I can understand her wanting to "own" her obesity, rather than being shunned by society. And I can definitely understand her wanting to just throw in the towel and eat what she wants after failing on one diet after another. What I don't get, however, is how she can want to so blatantly do something that I imagine will make her very uncomfortable. I already suffer from back and knee problems and I can't imagine what it would be like to have to deal with that, not to mention bed sores and the many other problems that accompany extreme morbid obesity.
I'm not sure if this woman's goal signifies sheer stubborness on her part -- a proverbial slap in the face to all of those obesity epidemic alarmists out there -- or if she is just trying to commit suicide. Guess I'll never know. But though I don't quite get this goal, I wish her good health and happiness ... and the deep hope that I continue to have LESS in common with someone who is destroying her body.
As disgusted as I am by this, though, I have to think: how much different from her am I really? Sure, I'm not exploiting myself nor am I going to such extremes to pack on the pounds, but I am aware of the damage I've done to my body. I've known all this time that I've been putting on the weight and I haven't successfully stopped it. So while we may gawk at this woman and exclaim, "But she's going to kill herself! What about her kids?" basically, I'm doing the same thing -- albeit in a more subtle manner.
I suppose I can understand her wanting to "own" her obesity, rather than being shunned by society. And I can definitely understand her wanting to just throw in the towel and eat what she wants after failing on one diet after another. What I don't get, however, is how she can want to so blatantly do something that I imagine will make her very uncomfortable. I already suffer from back and knee problems and I can't imagine what it would be like to have to deal with that, not to mention bed sores and the many other problems that accompany extreme morbid obesity.
I'm not sure if this woman's goal signifies sheer stubborness on her part -- a proverbial slap in the face to all of those obesity epidemic alarmists out there -- or if she is just trying to commit suicide. Guess I'll never know. But though I don't quite get this goal, I wish her good health and happiness ... and the deep hope that I continue to have LESS in common with someone who is destroying her body.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Let's Get Physical (Therapy)
Today was my first real day of physical therapy (as opposed to the last time, which was just a consulatation). It wasn't too bad, though the session lasted longer than I thought at 90 minutes. I didn't think that there would be much I could do since I'm still non-weight bearing, but the therapist, Abigail, really gave my foot a workout.
First, she had me put heat on it for 20 minutes and the massaged it for 10 (this was my favorite part). After, I had to move my foot in every way possible -- curl the toes, flex and point, rotate my ankle. None of these exercises hurt, but my foot felt very stiff and it was shaking a bit because it's still so weak. She then had me do some movements where I actually put my foot on the floor (while sitting) and THAT felt strange. She had me rest my toes on the floor while I did calf raises with my heel and then rest my heel on the floor while I raised my toes. The calf raises hurt! I wasn't in agony or anything, but my muscles were quite sore. This makes me even more nervous about what it will feel like when I actually stand on my foot again, but the therapist told me if I do these exercises twice a day, I'll build up my muscles and the swelling will go down. I sure as hell hope so. I'm not intending to half-ass anything, though. I'll do these exercises daily.
I also picked up a mini ultrasound machine that's supposed to help my fracture heal. I haven't used it yet so I don't know what it'll feel like, but I have to keep it on my leg for 20 minutes a day, as well. So between this and the therapy, a good chunk of my day is filled.
I'm grateful that I've had my parents to drive me around to these various appointments. I was afraid that we'd kill each other, because we tend to argue when we spend a lot of time together -- especially when I'm alone and without my husband -- but so far (knock on wood, knock on wood), it's been okay. They still annoy me; for instance, my dad refused to listen when I told him to back the wheelchair out at a certain point because this is how Jon does it ... and sure enough the chair got stuck. And he still keeps asking me questions about my medical history (have you seen this type of doctor? Why are you listed as being pre-diabetic -- what does that mean?) whenever my mom goes out for a cigarette (yeah, I get the irony, too). But I'm trying to keep my cool and not flip out at him, even though I wish he wouldn't ask me this stuff.
We actually had a very civil conversation today about my weight. He said that he saw an interview with Al Roker who'd shared that even though he'd gotten a gastric bypass, he'd gained weight back -- and that no matter how thin he got, he'd always be a fat person inside, kind of like an alcoholic always is an alcoholic, even if he's sober. I explained that yes, this is exactly how it is for me -- that I want to be thin and have succeeded before but it's just been so difficult for me to stay on track. That even though I know what to eat, that I'm often overtaken by a compulsion to binge, and that I have to think about every bite I eat. I also revealed that I've been speaking with a therapist about my eating disorder and my dad was happy to hear that. I think maybe he's beginning to understand how complex obesity and how me being fat doesn't mean that I'm lazy or "misbehaving" because I ate "bad" food. I think that maybe Roker's interview hit a nerve or something and he saw how even someone who went to great extremes to lose weight has had a difficult time fighting his food addiction.
This conversation was important to me because I feel as if my weight has created a barrier between my parents and me. When I began to gain in college, it understandably frustrated them, but I don't think they handled it well. They'd lecture me as if I were a naughty child, attempted to use negative reinforcement ("You'll never get a boyfriend, job, etc.") and actually threatened to take me out of school if I didn't lose. Then when I did lose a little, they'd remind me that I had more to go. When I was a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding, I looked GREAT and a lot of people complimented me -- but then my mom replied, "She still has to lose some more."
I get that they were concerned, but I wished that they'd taken a different approach. I don't think that they meant to make me feel badly about myself, but they did. Not only was I upset about gaining the weight, but now I was disappointing them, as well. That's what really got to me, that I let them down so much. The thing is, I TRIED to lose the weight, as I am now. But they didn't seem to understand that or understand how hard it was for me.
Eventually the pressure got to me and I just stopped coming home during holidays whenever it was possible for me to find another place to stay. During our long spring break, I went home with my now sister-in-law and spent Passover with my now in-laws (on a sidenote, this is how I got to know my husband). And during Thanksgiving of senior year, I chose to spend the weekend in our house by myself rather than come home. I lied that I had to do a shift at the newspaper where I was working at the time, but I just didn't feel like dealing with them. So while everyone else was enjoying Thanksgiving with their families, I was all by myself for four days. It sucked. But it was better than going home and getting in an argument.
These days, I have a decent relationship with my folks, but we don't see each other much. They travel often and I've made a point to only see them when Jon is with me to act as a buffer. I would like to be closer, though. I think that they could handle things better, but then again, I probably can, too.
Now that I'm older, I can see their side of things a little better. I'm not sure what I'd do if I had a daughter and she became obese as an adult. I don't know what I'd say or how I could help her without hurting her feelings. I guess I can see how it would be a tough thing to deal with. I don't think that my parents are bad people at all, but they (unintentionally) made ME feel like a bad person.
I think that there are too many bad memories tied in with my parents and my weight for me to ever fully let them in on my weight loss struggles; as of now, they don't know that I spent some time bingeing and purging. But if I can let them in at least a little, maybe we can find some peace.
First, she had me put heat on it for 20 minutes and the massaged it for 10 (this was my favorite part). After, I had to move my foot in every way possible -- curl the toes, flex and point, rotate my ankle. None of these exercises hurt, but my foot felt very stiff and it was shaking a bit because it's still so weak. She then had me do some movements where I actually put my foot on the floor (while sitting) and THAT felt strange. She had me rest my toes on the floor while I did calf raises with my heel and then rest my heel on the floor while I raised my toes. The calf raises hurt! I wasn't in agony or anything, but my muscles were quite sore. This makes me even more nervous about what it will feel like when I actually stand on my foot again, but the therapist told me if I do these exercises twice a day, I'll build up my muscles and the swelling will go down. I sure as hell hope so. I'm not intending to half-ass anything, though. I'll do these exercises daily.
I also picked up a mini ultrasound machine that's supposed to help my fracture heal. I haven't used it yet so I don't know what it'll feel like, but I have to keep it on my leg for 20 minutes a day, as well. So between this and the therapy, a good chunk of my day is filled.
I'm grateful that I've had my parents to drive me around to these various appointments. I was afraid that we'd kill each other, because we tend to argue when we spend a lot of time together -- especially when I'm alone and without my husband -- but so far (knock on wood, knock on wood), it's been okay. They still annoy me; for instance, my dad refused to listen when I told him to back the wheelchair out at a certain point because this is how Jon does it ... and sure enough the chair got stuck. And he still keeps asking me questions about my medical history (have you seen this type of doctor? Why are you listed as being pre-diabetic -- what does that mean?) whenever my mom goes out for a cigarette (yeah, I get the irony, too). But I'm trying to keep my cool and not flip out at him, even though I wish he wouldn't ask me this stuff.
We actually had a very civil conversation today about my weight. He said that he saw an interview with Al Roker who'd shared that even though he'd gotten a gastric bypass, he'd gained weight back -- and that no matter how thin he got, he'd always be a fat person inside, kind of like an alcoholic always is an alcoholic, even if he's sober. I explained that yes, this is exactly how it is for me -- that I want to be thin and have succeeded before but it's just been so difficult for me to stay on track. That even though I know what to eat, that I'm often overtaken by a compulsion to binge, and that I have to think about every bite I eat. I also revealed that I've been speaking with a therapist about my eating disorder and my dad was happy to hear that. I think maybe he's beginning to understand how complex obesity and how me being fat doesn't mean that I'm lazy or "misbehaving" because I ate "bad" food. I think that maybe Roker's interview hit a nerve or something and he saw how even someone who went to great extremes to lose weight has had a difficult time fighting his food addiction.
This conversation was important to me because I feel as if my weight has created a barrier between my parents and me. When I began to gain in college, it understandably frustrated them, but I don't think they handled it well. They'd lecture me as if I were a naughty child, attempted to use negative reinforcement ("You'll never get a boyfriend, job, etc.") and actually threatened to take me out of school if I didn't lose. Then when I did lose a little, they'd remind me that I had more to go. When I was a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding, I looked GREAT and a lot of people complimented me -- but then my mom replied, "She still has to lose some more."
I get that they were concerned, but I wished that they'd taken a different approach. I don't think that they meant to make me feel badly about myself, but they did. Not only was I upset about gaining the weight, but now I was disappointing them, as well. That's what really got to me, that I let them down so much. The thing is, I TRIED to lose the weight, as I am now. But they didn't seem to understand that or understand how hard it was for me.
Eventually the pressure got to me and I just stopped coming home during holidays whenever it was possible for me to find another place to stay. During our long spring break, I went home with my now sister-in-law and spent Passover with my now in-laws (on a sidenote, this is how I got to know my husband). And during Thanksgiving of senior year, I chose to spend the weekend in our house by myself rather than come home. I lied that I had to do a shift at the newspaper where I was working at the time, but I just didn't feel like dealing with them. So while everyone else was enjoying Thanksgiving with their families, I was all by myself for four days. It sucked. But it was better than going home and getting in an argument.
These days, I have a decent relationship with my folks, but we don't see each other much. They travel often and I've made a point to only see them when Jon is with me to act as a buffer. I would like to be closer, though. I think that they could handle things better, but then again, I probably can, too.
Now that I'm older, I can see their side of things a little better. I'm not sure what I'd do if I had a daughter and she became obese as an adult. I don't know what I'd say or how I could help her without hurting her feelings. I guess I can see how it would be a tough thing to deal with. I don't think that my parents are bad people at all, but they (unintentionally) made ME feel like a bad person.
I think that there are too many bad memories tied in with my parents and my weight for me to ever fully let them in on my weight loss struggles; as of now, they don't know that I spent some time bingeing and purging. But if I can let them in at least a little, maybe we can find some peace.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Sleeping Beauty
Now that I've been recovering from my broken leg for a few weeks, it's coming up in my dreams; I keep dreaming that I'm walking on it and that it's OK -- hopefully a good sign for those of you who believe in dreams predicting the future.
That said, I also have frequent dreams about my weight, which apparently I can't even escape in my sleep. The most common ones I have are where I'm naked and in public and everyone is mocking my weight; I'm at a clothing store and nothing fits (that one is pretty close to reality, sadly); I'm fighting with my mom over my weight (another reality-based one) or I'm reuniting with someone from high school and they're laughing at me for no longer being thin.
Well, last night I finally had a new variation on the "being fat and getting mocked" dream. In it, Jon urged me to start dating again, "just in case" something happened to him. I wasn't thrilled with the idea, but agreed to go on a few blind dates just to shut him up. Unfortunately (or fortunately since I'm MARRIED, even while I'm asleep), my "dream" date (heh) turned out to be anything but and stated that he couldn't see why anyone would want to be with a fat chick like me (sidenote: El Jerko resembled George Costanza, so he was not exactly a looker himself!). I then stood up in the middle of the restaurant that we were in and loudly ordered him to "pack his penis and go." HA!
While in real-life, I don't intend to start dating anytime soon -- my actual husband and gay trophy husband are all I need right now -- I do love the line and am now going to have to find ways to use, "Pack your penis and go," in everyday conversation. I'm pleased that while my dream self may be as heavy as my real self, that at least we both can come up with a good zinger on the spot.
That said, I also have frequent dreams about my weight, which apparently I can't even escape in my sleep. The most common ones I have are where I'm naked and in public and everyone is mocking my weight; I'm at a clothing store and nothing fits (that one is pretty close to reality, sadly); I'm fighting with my mom over my weight (another reality-based one) or I'm reuniting with someone from high school and they're laughing at me for no longer being thin.
Well, last night I finally had a new variation on the "being fat and getting mocked" dream. In it, Jon urged me to start dating again, "just in case" something happened to him. I wasn't thrilled with the idea, but agreed to go on a few blind dates just to shut him up. Unfortunately (or fortunately since I'm MARRIED, even while I'm asleep), my "dream" date (heh) turned out to be anything but and stated that he couldn't see why anyone would want to be with a fat chick like me (sidenote: El Jerko resembled George Costanza, so he was not exactly a looker himself!). I then stood up in the middle of the restaurant that we were in and loudly ordered him to "pack his penis and go." HA!
While in real-life, I don't intend to start dating anytime soon -- my actual husband and gay trophy husband are all I need right now -- I do love the line and am now going to have to find ways to use, "Pack your penis and go," in everyday conversation. I'm pleased that while my dream self may be as heavy as my real self, that at least we both can come up with a good zinger on the spot.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Photos Finished
Yesterday, Jon and I had our 10th anniversary party. It turned out to be a really nice event, even though I had to attend it in a wheelchair. But the restaurant (My Kitchen in Forest Hills, NY) did an awesome job catering and everyone raved about the food. Plus, it was wonderful to be surrounded by so many people who love us. I think in some ways I enjoyed this better than our wedding because it was a lot more intimate and I didn't have to deal with all of the stressful preparations that come with planning a wedding.
The only bad spot were the pictures. I HATE having photos of me. I'm kind of like Chandler Bing from that episode of FRIENDS where he could just not smile well for his and Monica's engagement photos. It's also hard to look at a photo and see how fat I really am, especially when I'm surrounded by my normal-sized friends.
This is why I always take pictures of the sights on our trips, but Jon and I rarely get into any photos ourselves (even though he's not fat). This is also why I love to video people, but prefer to stay behind the scenes as the narrator. This way, I'm part of the action, but no one has to look at me. I'm kind of like Charlie from Charlie's Angels -- you know I'm there, but at the same time, I'm invisible.
Well, since it was our party yesterday, I gave in and let some friends take pictures of me. I wish I hadn't. It was exactly as I feared -- I resembled a huge, melting mound of flesh and looked so so HUGE. Plus, I haven't had a proper shower in weeks so my hair and skin weren't too great. I know that in my friends eyes, I was just me and they jut wanted something to remember the day by. But for me, seeing myself like that was a horror show.
I suppose seeing the truth isn't a completely bad thing -- maybe I need to see how I really look so that I'll do something about it and lose the weight. But the thing is, I have been trying to and would prefer not to look at myself until I lose some more pounds. I feel the same way about my broken leg; I refuse to look at it when the doctor periodically checks it until it's healed. I don't want to look at bruised flesh. I don't want to look at fat, melty flesh, either.
Now before you go on thinking that I suffer from some sort of body image disorder, I don't. There have been periods -- even when I was overweight --where I was fine with what I looked like. A few years ago, I trained for that 20 mile walk and though, I was still overweight, was toned and in decent shape. I looked big, but not all horrific and melty, and was OK with having my pictures taken. I went to Disney with friends that summer and posed for bunches of shots with them, even though I was the largest in the group. I even have one of those photos hanging in my office because I like it so much.
But for now, I don't want my oversized body documented. Perhaps when I do lose the weight (if I ever lose the weight, which as I get closer to 40 is seeming more and more impossible), I'll look back and appreciate these photos of me from when I was larger. Perhaps they'll remind me of what I've overcome and how I don't want to get back to that size.
While I'm at this size, though, I want to feel as normal as possible, especially since I can't even walk at the moment. I can joke about being in a wheelchair, but not having my legs back is slowly getting to me. Seeing myself looking larger than life AND in a wheelchair makes me feel even more like a freak than I already do -- and it gives me a sense of what my future could be like: me, ENORMOUS, stuck in a wheelchair because my weight is keeping me from walking. Ugh.
So for any friends reading this, I'd appreciate it if you'd respect my wishes and not take photos of me for now ... or at least strategically pose me and photo shop me so I look a lot thinner. I know that it's difficult to understand what I'm going through as a thin person, but this is a serious issue for me and I need to be heard.
The only bad spot were the pictures. I HATE having photos of me. I'm kind of like Chandler Bing from that episode of FRIENDS where he could just not smile well for his and Monica's engagement photos. It's also hard to look at a photo and see how fat I really am, especially when I'm surrounded by my normal-sized friends.
This is why I always take pictures of the sights on our trips, but Jon and I rarely get into any photos ourselves (even though he's not fat). This is also why I love to video people, but prefer to stay behind the scenes as the narrator. This way, I'm part of the action, but no one has to look at me. I'm kind of like Charlie from Charlie's Angels -- you know I'm there, but at the same time, I'm invisible.
Well, since it was our party yesterday, I gave in and let some friends take pictures of me. I wish I hadn't. It was exactly as I feared -- I resembled a huge, melting mound of flesh and looked so so HUGE. Plus, I haven't had a proper shower in weeks so my hair and skin weren't too great. I know that in my friends eyes, I was just me and they jut wanted something to remember the day by. But for me, seeing myself like that was a horror show.
I suppose seeing the truth isn't a completely bad thing -- maybe I need to see how I really look so that I'll do something about it and lose the weight. But the thing is, I have been trying to and would prefer not to look at myself until I lose some more pounds. I feel the same way about my broken leg; I refuse to look at it when the doctor periodically checks it until it's healed. I don't want to look at bruised flesh. I don't want to look at fat, melty flesh, either.
Now before you go on thinking that I suffer from some sort of body image disorder, I don't. There have been periods -- even when I was overweight --where I was fine with what I looked like. A few years ago, I trained for that 20 mile walk and though, I was still overweight, was toned and in decent shape. I looked big, but not all horrific and melty, and was OK with having my pictures taken. I went to Disney with friends that summer and posed for bunches of shots with them, even though I was the largest in the group. I even have one of those photos hanging in my office because I like it so much.
But for now, I don't want my oversized body documented. Perhaps when I do lose the weight (if I ever lose the weight, which as I get closer to 40 is seeming more and more impossible), I'll look back and appreciate these photos of me from when I was larger. Perhaps they'll remind me of what I've overcome and how I don't want to get back to that size.
While I'm at this size, though, I want to feel as normal as possible, especially since I can't even walk at the moment. I can joke about being in a wheelchair, but not having my legs back is slowly getting to me. Seeing myself looking larger than life AND in a wheelchair makes me feel even more like a freak than I already do -- and it gives me a sense of what my future could be like: me, ENORMOUS, stuck in a wheelchair because my weight is keeping me from walking. Ugh.
So for any friends reading this, I'd appreciate it if you'd respect my wishes and not take photos of me for now ... or at least strategically pose me and photo shop me so I look a lot thinner. I know that it's difficult to understand what I'm going through as a thin person, but this is a serious issue for me and I need to be heard.
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