that fat chick
(There’s really no point in this post. It’s just me rambling about my insecurities and my fatness. Feel free to skip this.)
My mother was always worried about her weight, going on and off certain diets and exercising all the time. She always brought my sister and I into it with her, too. When she started Herbalife, we started drinking shakes. When she started counting calories, I started writing down everything I ate. We would always dedicate at least an hour every day for fitness: Jane Fonda, aerobics, Tae Bo, swimming. So at a very young age, I associated skinny with good and fat with bad.
I don’t know when I started seeing myself as “fat.” It was probably in middle school. I feel like I remember every single time someone would comment on my weight. Once my sister told me I looked pregnant (she was 8 at the time) and it stayed with me. My dad would always say “You need to lose the weight!” and it would stay with me every time.
It started before I was really even fat. In 8th grade, I thought I was obese, but looking back, I was a size S. How could I have looked in the mirror and see fat everywhere? I thought I was fat at size 6 and when I became a size 8, I’d repeat to myself “at least I’m not in the double digits.” And once I reached a size 10, I stopped buying jeans.
I’m sure other people have been there. I was so embarrassed about my weight that I refused to even say the word “fat.” I hated going shopping with my friends because I didn’t want anybody to know what size I was. Also, because they liked to show things off in the changing room and I hated being in that situation when the zipper just won’t zip up and my friends are like “HEY I WANNA SEE.”
In sophomore year, I stopped eating anything that wasn’t tofu, yogurt, and fruits. If I did, I’d throw it up. I started going to the gym every day and go on the elliptical until the screen told me I’d burnt at least 600 calories. But even at my skinniest, I still felt fat (2005). Granted, it wasn’t very skinny, but I feel like it wasn’t exactly fat.
I don’t know why I’m writing about it now. I’ve gained so much weight since then and sometimes I feel more disgusting than ever when I look in the mirror. I’m scared to go to the gym because I don’t want all these fit, athletic people looking at the fat chick trying to run.
I think it really hit me the other week when my boyfriend put on my shorts because he was trying to be funny. I don’t even remember what he was doing in them or if it was really funny or not because I was so traumatized by the fact that MY BOYFRIEND COULD FIT IN MY SHORTS. I was so angry, but I couldn’t explain to him why I was so angry because I didn’t want to say that word. It’s like once I say it, it becomes true.
We’ve talked about it since then but he just doesn’t understand. He thinks I’m crazy whenever I complain about my body. I tell him he has boyfriend goggles and he just calls me silly.
I guess I’m just realizing now how being “fat” has affected my thoughts and actions. When we first started dating, I was quick to introduce him to my coworkers and friends, but it seemed like he never wanted me to meet his friends. That nagging feeling of insecurity kept eating at me until I accused him of being ashamed of me. He was completely confused. He told me that the only reason he hadn’t introduced me to his friends was because he only ever wanted to spend time with me. And when he finally asked me if I wanted to hang out with his friends, I refused. I didn’t want his friends to judge me and call me his fat girlfriend behind his back.
There’s this little part of me that’s scared that one day he’ll wake up and realize that I’m a whale and just be so… disgusted.
Things are getting better, though. My low point this year was when I wasn’t working. I’d just sit around at home all day and eat and get depressed and eat more and refuse to go outside because I felt gross. Now that I’m working and exercising more often and swimming for hours whenever I have a day off, I’m feeling more energetic.
I still hate looking in the mirror though. I’m trying to be okay with myself, but it’s just so difficult sometimes.