The other day, maybe it was 2 Saturdays ago I worked out for an hour. For the SECOND time that day. 2 full hours. WHY? Because I had some fast food for lunch (Green Burrito…wasn’t very good, by the way), and so I have to make up for it. Especially if I want to eat and/or drink later.
You don’t see what I see.
You all know me, and know my shaky self-esteem. I’ve gotten a lot of “talkin’ to” by friends of mine lately. As well as compliments on the progress that I’ve made on my weight loss/fitness efforts. Apparently they see it. I don’t.
And therein lies the problem. I love my friends, and I honestly don’t think in my heart that they’d ever lie to me. When they tell me I’m fabulous, I’m beautiful, etc., I don’t want to believe that they’re lying to me, and that they’re just giving me lip service to shut me up from my self-deprecating whining.
But what ever they are seeing, I’m not seeing.
Sometimes I may see it, for a split-second before I leave the house. But then by the time I walk the ONE BLOCK to the bar, or by the time I’ve made my 1/2 hour commute to work, it’s as if I just transformed. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrors and want to cry. No matter how kick-ass I felt I looked just a few minutes ago, it’s gone by the time I get from Point A to Point B.
Most of the time, I’m not even THAT lucky.
What I see:
A girl who is overweight and frumpy. Just can’t get it together. Teeny little pin head on giant balloon body. Itty-bitty features smushed on a gigantic face. Mis-shapen. Deformed. Jacked up haircut (well, at least until the other day). Looks ridiculous when trying to dress up, wear fancy make-up, or do my hair all pretty. Shiny skin that’s like a freakin’ oil slick. Looks terrible in any color besides black, because when I wear colors, it’s like neon signs pointing to my rolls. I’m the “ugly one” of the group. Always, always, always.
I can’t tell you how often this statement runs through my head: You’re a fat, ugly heifer who deserves to die. Usually it’s while I’m looking in the mirror. But sometimes, that thought just shows up in my head. Middle of the day, sitting at my desk, out with friends…doesn’t matter. And trust me, as terrified as I am of death (always have been, since I was a kid), it’s not like I’m going to act on these thoughts. Don’t want anyone getting unnecessarily worried. Pfft, whatevah. Been there, done that, bought the souvenir t-shirt.
AND I would like to state for the record, than when I’m looking at MYSELF and saying these things about MYSELF and MY WEIGHT and how UGLY and WRETCHED I look at the weight that I am — I am truly only speaking about MY FUCKING SELF. I hate this bullshit about how if a person is saying derogatory things about themselves if they’re overweight, that they’re really thinking that about ALL overweight people. BULL FUCKING SHIT. I am wayyyyy to goddamn narcissistic and self-absorbed for that. I am way too busy obsessing over calories, picking myself apart and beating myself up for every little caloric sin I commit (and yet can’t seem to STOP committing). I don’t have the time or energy to do that for anyone else.
It is all about ME. I’m self-centered in the most fucked up of ways. Deal with it.
I have female friends of all shapes and sizes. And they are all beautiful. They all have style. Whether they are in hot-pink halter top, or a Super Mario Brothers t-shirt or an “I Dream of Jeannie” costume…they just have it.
And I don’t. I don’t know if I ever will.
But who’s to say I won’t try.