Monday, April 15, 2002
A Third Entry
I must admit, I do enjoy keeping this log. Just seeing it in print, being able to read it at home, at work, at a friend’s place, is very reassuring.
Now if only I could start writing every day J
So on the weekend I spent time with my good friend Jeri, and her daughter (my goddaughter) Amanda. I love them both so much, and certainly treasure my time with them. Amanda is coming up on three, so she’s at that stage where she is ALWAYS asking questions.
I’m more than happy to answer them, being the vast storehouse of knowledge that I am, lol. But the one question really struck me:
“Auntie Char, why do you eat so much?”
How to answer that? I know I eat a lot, I’ve got the grocery bills to prove it! Certainly it is a complex story, and Amanda herself is at the root of it. But that was three years ago, that can’t be the same reason now.
Certainly one reason I eat so much is I’m always hungry. I’m always snacking, chips, cookies, fruit (see, I AM healthy!). It’s just been part of who I am for the past few years.
There’s no point in telling Amanda her mom used to be that way. Jeri has worked so hard, she’s down to 210 lbs! That’s less than when she had Amanda, and… that’s less than HALF of what I weigh (445+). It was a lot of fun back in the day, when I was smaller than Jeri.
It was a lot of fun when I first became larger than Jeri.
It was a lot of fun up until I realised that Ian was getting fat himself. So… the question is why I still eat when it’s not as much fun as it was?
Do I lack willpower? That’s possible.
Do I fear a reversion to anorexia? That’s definitely possible.
Am I doing it to spite Ian? Yes. Though I’m not sure that works, because the more I eat, the more he loves it. I just figure the more I eat, the less there is for Ian. That’s not true, but my subconscious doesn’t seem very bright.
And I hate to blame Ian. It’s not his fault I’m fat. It’s not his fault I’m getting fatter. I’m my own person, and, well, it’s my own damn fault.
But looking at that, you’d think I was miserable. I’m not. I like being fat. It’s not like this happened over night, or unexpectedly. I love to eat. I love the sensations of smell, taste. The sound of something frying, the feeling of a creamy al fredo sauce. The sight of a nice pie, baked just so. I love it all. I’ve loved how my body has changed. Going from that scrawny bone bag to a soft, round, full figured body has been amasing. Those days of going shopping, and admiring the ‘new’ me in a mirror. The days where I realised that I’d outgrown another outfit. Going out to places and realizing that I was just a little to big to sit in a booth at McDonald’s, or that a movie theatre just can’t accommodate me. It’s thrilling to be so far out of social norms. Some people dye their hair, pierce their body, and do other things to separate themselves from society, they try not to fit in. And me… I LITERALLY don’t fit in!
And yet, I’ve gone too far. I do always eat, and that’s a nuisance. I’m hungry, unfocused if I go too long without a snack. And now I truly am getting a little bigger than I’d ever dreamed. 445 lbs is HUGE! There are a lot more places that I can’t fit. It’s a pain in the ass to get around in the ROM. I mean, if I can’t go to museums, then that’s a problem! And while I was previously active, the last few months I’ve become sedentary, it’s a big problem just to get around! I used to be able to shop for hours, but now just 20 minutes and I’m worn out.
And it’s nigh impossible to find a good selection of clothes past size 32, much less at size 36/38!
But then I check myself in the mirror. I do so admire how I look. If I could look this way, but not be tired, not have to embarrassingly squeeze into cultural establishments. I don’t mind the stares I get on the subway. I don’t mind people gawking when I hit the buffet. I enjoy telling family and friends that I don’t mind being fat. I’m like so few people in the world, well, that I know, and I love it!
But I hate it.
I wish I could just turn it off, be fat for a few days a week, or just the evenings.
I wish I wasn’t always hungry, I wish I could always enjoy all the food I want.
I wish I could fit in, I love how I stick out.
I wish I knew what I wanted to do.
I wish I knew why I eat so much!
I must admit, I do enjoy keeping this log. Just seeing it in print, being able to read it at home, at work, at a friend’s place, is very reassuring.
Now if only I could start writing every day J
So on the weekend I spent time with my good friend Jeri, and her daughter (my goddaughter) Amanda. I love them both so much, and certainly treasure my time with them. Amanda is coming up on three, so she’s at that stage where she is ALWAYS asking questions.
I’m more than happy to answer them, being the vast storehouse of knowledge that I am, lol. But the one question really struck me:
“Auntie Char, why do you eat so much?”
How to answer that? I know I eat a lot, I’ve got the grocery bills to prove it! Certainly it is a complex story, and Amanda herself is at the root of it. But that was three years ago, that can’t be the same reason now.
Certainly one reason I eat so much is I’m always hungry. I’m always snacking, chips, cookies, fruit (see, I AM healthy!). It’s just been part of who I am for the past few years.
There’s no point in telling Amanda her mom used to be that way. Jeri has worked so hard, she’s down to 210 lbs! That’s less than when she had Amanda, and… that’s less than HALF of what I weigh (445+). It was a lot of fun back in the day, when I was smaller than Jeri.
It was a lot of fun when I first became larger than Jeri.
It was a lot of fun up until I realised that Ian was getting fat himself. So… the question is why I still eat when it’s not as much fun as it was?
Do I lack willpower? That’s possible.
Do I fear a reversion to anorexia? That’s definitely possible.
Am I doing it to spite Ian? Yes. Though I’m not sure that works, because the more I eat, the more he loves it. I just figure the more I eat, the less there is for Ian. That’s not true, but my subconscious doesn’t seem very bright.
And I hate to blame Ian. It’s not his fault I’m fat. It’s not his fault I’m getting fatter. I’m my own person, and, well, it’s my own damn fault.
But looking at that, you’d think I was miserable. I’m not. I like being fat. It’s not like this happened over night, or unexpectedly. I love to eat. I love the sensations of smell, taste. The sound of something frying, the feeling of a creamy al fredo sauce. The sight of a nice pie, baked just so. I love it all. I’ve loved how my body has changed. Going from that scrawny bone bag to a soft, round, full figured body has been amasing. Those days of going shopping, and admiring the ‘new’ me in a mirror. The days where I realised that I’d outgrown another outfit. Going out to places and realizing that I was just a little to big to sit in a booth at McDonald’s, or that a movie theatre just can’t accommodate me. It’s thrilling to be so far out of social norms. Some people dye their hair, pierce their body, and do other things to separate themselves from society, they try not to fit in. And me… I LITERALLY don’t fit in!
And yet, I’ve gone too far. I do always eat, and that’s a nuisance. I’m hungry, unfocused if I go too long without a snack. And now I truly am getting a little bigger than I’d ever dreamed. 445 lbs is HUGE! There are a lot more places that I can’t fit. It’s a pain in the ass to get around in the ROM. I mean, if I can’t go to museums, then that’s a problem! And while I was previously active, the last few months I’ve become sedentary, it’s a big problem just to get around! I used to be able to shop for hours, but now just 20 minutes and I’m worn out.
And it’s nigh impossible to find a good selection of clothes past size 32, much less at size 36/38!
But then I check myself in the mirror. I do so admire how I look. If I could look this way, but not be tired, not have to embarrassingly squeeze into cultural establishments. I don’t mind the stares I get on the subway. I don’t mind people gawking when I hit the buffet. I enjoy telling family and friends that I don’t mind being fat. I’m like so few people in the world, well, that I know, and I love it!
But I hate it.
I wish I could just turn it off, be fat for a few days a week, or just the evenings.
I wish I wasn’t always hungry, I wish I could always enjoy all the food I want.
I wish I could fit in, I love how I stick out.
I wish I knew what I wanted to do.
I wish I knew why I eat so much!
// posted by Charlotte @ 2:38:00 PM 
