Sunday, December 6, 2009
I kicked my own ass at the gym.
But I finally made the scale move down.
Now my body feels like it's been beaten with a hockey stick in all my major muscle groups.
That pain? Is the pain of success.
(...and here I thought success was supposed to be sweet?)
I found pictures of me on my parents computer of how I used to look. I always tried to avoid letting people take full body shots of me. Obviously, I failed.
I never realized, when I was that fat, just how fat I was.
I wish someone would have said something to me as it was happening. I wish they would have stepped in when I was a child and said, "Woah there, blimpy. Let's get you on a treadmill!"
My dad tried, apparently, but my mother and shrink put a screeching halt to it. Said something about body image, and the judgment damaging my already shaky psyche.
I sort of want to hit them for that.
You know what damaged my "shaky psyche"? How about kidnapping me and leaving me with a child molestor.
Or letting me get so fat that I got teased in school?
Or letting me get to a weight where I hated my body every day I woke up, and had no idea how to properly exercise or what healthy eating habits were, and started vacillating between binging and starving?
Or how about actually taking me off the medication, which was known to cause suicidal behavior in young adults (I was ELEVEN, holy fuck) and putting me into physical activities and on a proper diet, which is proven more effective in clinical studies at relieving a majority of childhood depression?
And it would have also helped me make friends!
Or how about not having pulled me out of gymnastics, dance, karate, and softball when my parents got divorced because they were too fucking lazy to take my anymore?
Or, here's a thought--how about never having had us survive on fast food for years at a time, and actually having taught me healthy habits and coping mechanisms, rather than putting me with an art therapist who liked the idea of me being on Prozac, Xanax, Lithium, and Trazadome from the ages of 10 to 14.
And I wonder why, sometimes, I went to amphetamine abuse. Probably because I was such a fucking zoned out zombie for so much of my life, that I wanted to make up for all the years I missed.
Anyway. Sorry. Rant over.
I'll post up the pics, as well as the most recent body shots of me, later, when I'm able to pull them off my dad's comp. But...it's sort of horrifying. I have a shirt now that is super big, and reaches down to the middle of my thighs. I remember when I couldn't wear it because I was too fat, just this past February. In these pics, I was wearing that shirt, which means I wasn't even at my high weight, but I mean...holy fuck.
To think that I ever got fatter than that.
I'll never be back there again.
Also, interesting article about Disney Princesses and thinness:
It really does make you think.
Where did our obsession with thinness come from? Why were princesses so delicate and fragile to begin with?
Of course girls were obsessed with looks back then--look at the propganda of the days about how women should act. Look at the old 50's videos about how young girls should behave. And before that, before movies and reels and even silent films, women were using tape worms to make themselves thinner.
Think of the corsets, and how so many aimed to get the wasp waist.
And when Consumption (TB) was considered to be a beautiful disease, and many women dreamed of dying from it, because they wanted to look so delicate, if only for a little bit.
Makes you wonder.