January 15, 2000
Body Image
Okay. So. This is me. The real me.
I mean, not that the other pictures on this site aren't really me, cause they are. But they're all carefully chosen or edited to hide the bits of me that I don't like or don't necessarily want the entire net world to see. That's odd, isn't it? I mean, considering what I've got written on my bio page. I wonder at times if being out and open about being fat is any different, in my case, from being defensive about it.
I don't honestly know, some days.
I've been thinking a lot about it lately. That in and of itself is unusual. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about how I look, as I said yesterday. But having this blasted camera has done it. I mean, at home, I can either take pictures of my cat, or of me. And while there will be plenty of Max pictures, I'm sure, I've kind of turned to myself as a subject.
On seeing the first several pictures I took, I was shocked. I've gained weight. Again. And, I mean, somewhere inside I knew that, but knowing it and seeing it are two very different things. Does that make sense? I think you have to have been there in order to understand how you can look at yourself day in and day out and never really see what's there. I wasn't seeing. Now I am, and I'm not sure how to deal with it. There's a whole new level of self-consciousness there. I've found myself wondering, over the past couple days, just how the people I see regularly (like co-workers) view me.
Am I a freak to them? An acceptable oddity? Do they even care? There are honestly days (rare anymore, but they still happen every once in a while) where I feel like the whole world is staring at me, aghast that someone so large can even exist. Now, I know, rationally, that I'm not headed for the Guinness Book of World Records or anything. I didn't say it was a rational thought pattern, did I?
Being 'super-sized' (yes, that's a real term, and yes, it applies to me) in our culture is... trying. There are things that most people take for granted that are an issue for me. When you go out to a restaurant, do you have to wonder if there's any seating that isn't in a booth? Or if the movie theatre seats are going to be comfortable? And don't even get me started on clothes shopping.
For example, the last time I went to the Olive Garden, I was on a first date with someone. (No, I haven't written or talked about it for a variety of reasons. Suffice to say, there was and there will be no second date.) The hostess, as she showed us to our table, turned to me and said, "Just a moment, I'll bring you a more comfortable chair." As in, one without arms. I was, frankly, mortified. I felt like the hostess had just stood on a chair (an armless chair, no doubt), and announced to everyone, including my date, "Wow, this chick is so fat, I have to bring her a special chair!" Now... I know that wasn't the intention. She was, quite simply, trying to make me more physically comfortable. And she handled it quite well. It was all me, my embarrassment, my self-consciousness. Like I thought, if she hadn't said anything, then no one would have noticed that I was fat. Obviously that isn't true, but it's another example of me not really seeing myself.
Of course, the question that comes up logically is 'Well, if you're so worried about it, why don't you do something about it?' Logical, maybe. Is it that simple? No. There are so many psychological issues and patterns involved here, I don't think I could untangle them all, even if I wanted to. There's also a stubborness factor. I don't do anything anymore for others in terms of my appearance. If I wear makeup, it's because I felt like it. If I dress up, it's because that's what I wanted to wear. Why should I lose weight, just because other people might like it better? Why should I make others comfortable with who I am? Selfish? Maybe a little. Maybe, consciously or unconsciously, it's a rebellion against the years I spent actually listening to what I was supposed to be and look like.
So. I don't want to change for others. If I'm comfortable with myself, then everything's cool, right? Am I comfortable with myself? I think so. If no one else were involved, it honestly wouldn't bother me. But, let's face it. I'm a social being. I care what people think about me, as much as I hate to admit it. Sometimes, I think maybe I'm testing the people who know me. "Look!" I say, "This is me, no masks, no altering or hiding myself, fat and despised double chin and all. Do you still love me?"
Maybe that's what I'm saying by writing this. And frankly, I'm scared of the answer.
