Thursday, July 11, 2013

Interesting... Very very interesting.

" If you can't hear what I'm trying to say If you can't read from the same page Maybe I'm going deaf, maybe I'm going blind Maybe I'm out of my mind. OK now he was close, tried to domesticate you But you're an animal, baby it's in your nature Just let me liberate you
Hey, hey, hey You don't need no papers Hey, hey, hey That man is not your maker."- Blurred Lines Robin Thicke

The song has nothing to do with what I'm talking about. It's just what I was listening to while writing this. Robin Thicke could totally get it, in case you were wondering.

Most of my male friends are gay.  GAAAYYY, honey.  Which while I have been, happily, letting my hag flag fly for at least 2 decades now,  sometimes it is nice to get the perspective of a straight, rather than a gay, male.  This has not always been the case. I used to have more straight male friends, not many, but a few. I have lost all of my straight pals to marriage and babies and other life changes.   

Having said that, I have a friend, a friend who is male and straight and attractive.  We are going to call him Jack.  I adore this man. He’s like the male me. Jack and I met in group therapy and in recent months, have become friendly.  I remember so many times in group he would say the exact same thing I was thinking.  We're just oddly similar. Little things really. We have similar tattoos in the same place. We both hate mayonnaise. (Side note---Mayonnaise is the foul nectar of the devil) We feel the same way about many things.  No, we have not had sex. Never even came close.  Nor will we ever, I think it is far too late for all that.  Besides, why mess up a good thing?  Good friends are hard to come by and you can have sex with anyone.  Yeah, you can. Trust me.  Although, I remember telling him that TG had once told me that even if I think I’m friends with a guy, he still wants to have sex with me.  He agreed wholeheartedly, which leaves me wondering slightly what that means.  “But, we’re friends” I said, he just made a face and muttered some guy thing and kept it moving.  Anyway.  As we are both single and looking,  we discuss relationships.  What we want, what we are willing to settle for and what we just can't live with (or without).  Often, relationship talk will lead to conversations about sex. We talk about sex quite a bit.  It just sort of happens.  He doesn’t like it when I talk about dicks, but seems to think it is ok to talk to me about tits.  (I find men perplexing.) We have discussed at length my deep, deep disdain for chubby chasers.  I have tried repeatedly to explain to this man why I think it’s gross and why I think he’s stupid for not getting it. He, in turn, has repeatedly tried to explain to me why it’s NOT gross and why I’m out of my mind for not getting it.  He told me recently, that when he has had sex with a bigger woman he loves to grab on to the flesh. I think he said “I love to grab on to the stomach.”  Kids. Friends. Readers. This made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. I’m not kidding.  I was disgusted.  I have physically and violently pushed men off of me for doing that.  TG who is bigger and stronger than I am has ended up on the other side of the bed for such atrocities.   

My battle with weight loss is epic.  It is life-long. It is exhausting.  And it’s not over.  I don’t know that it ever will be.  I look at myself and think of how pretty, how sexy, how out fucking standing, I could be if I lost weight.  Like, the potential for being a firecracker is right there.  I don’t wish I was taller, or shorter. I think my hair is awesome, big and curly. My skin color? Fine—I have no desire to be darker or lighter. My lips? Full and juicy thank you very much.  I don’t wish my eyes were closer together or further apart. My ears are fine. My nose is what it is.  Actually, I sort of wish that I had smaller feet. Being a size 9 just sounds so much better than 10.  But you know, meh, it is fine. Ain’t no big.  Weight loss is my demon. I think about it and I try all the time to eat less, move more. Eat to live, not live to eat.  Blah Blah. 

I met someone recently and we have started dating. (More on him another time) New Guy (NG) thinks I am “foxy”. That’s what he says. “You are a fucking fox”. "You are a luscious fox" He says that sort of thing all the time.  He’s about a decade older than I am, so I first chalked it up to a generational thing.  But then I thought, I don’t say “fresh” when I think something is good, so he must think he means it.  He really wants to have sex with me and he thinks by giving me these compliments, I'm going to just hop into the sack-a-roney with him.  God.  How fucking predictable.  How fucking boring.  I told Jack and my shrink about it, and told them I thought it was too much.  He lays it on a little thick, I said.  Something is wrong with him.  I think I hate him.  “Sexy fox” indeed.  He’s just trying to get into my pants.  Pfft… He’s heard the stories about fat girls; you know how fat girls are easy.   I’ve proceeded with seeing this man all the while looking at him with suspicion, and frankly, hating him for being attracted to me.  What is his story?  What does he want?  Hop, skip, jump we have sex… and he’s still “sexy fox”-ing me.  Interesting. 

Few days ago I came across this blog The Militant Baker and I don’t even know what to say.  There is a part of me that has chosen to not look at the pro-fat movement.  I have been quietly judging these women.  I've looked at pictures of brave (overweight/fat however you wish to define it) women in bikinis, all the while,  thinking that I would never for a million dollars (and I am broke as shit), pose in a bikini.  I have pride after all.  Disgusting, I said to myself.  I have thought to myself that they have just given up, so they are going to opt and be happy with what they have. They aren’t going to strive to be better. Not me! Not I! I am going to fight this fight as long as I live. I refuse to be fat forever. I will be pretty! I will be sexy! I will be desirable! Men will notice me! Men will find me attractive!

So here is the scary thing. What if I already am? What if they already do?  I read Jes’s post. I read the comments.  I cried. I cried for all the time I wasted, being angry and lonely and keeping myself in the dark. I cried for all the times I wouldn’t be as free, as  I could have been, sexually because I was self-conscious and embarrassed about my body. I could cry now just thinking about it. It boggles my mind that this random blog that one of my facebook friends was going on and on about could make me see things differently in a matter of moments.  

Listen, I don’t want to be fat. I really don’t.  But I think that maybe I can figure out a way to accept myself for the way that I am, while trying to change.  There are things that I do that are just not healthy.  What makes me run towards food when I am angry or sad or upset?  That’s not good for anyone.  I want to stop doing that.  What makes me right away choose the less healthy option on the menu?  That’s not good for anyone.  What makes me rather sit on my ass than go for a walk? Again, fat or not, that’s not good for anyone.  Eating right and exercise is good for you.  It can’t hurt you. Figuring out a way to look at your feelings and deal with them is better than stuffing your face, doing drugs, drinking to excess or shopping till you’re homeless.  I am, decidedly, not ready to just join with overweight women in “sisterhood”.  I am not ready to just decide to accept my fat and live with it. I want to lose weight. I do. I want to be healthier, I do.  I just think that I should perhaps be the best me for right now, as I try and become a better me for later.

No comments:

Post a Comment