FROM THE ARCHIVES: Well, These Boots.

EDIT: This was originally written and posted prior to my gastric bypass surgery, and subsequent weight loss, that took place three years ago. While many of these things are no long an outward daily struggle, a good deal of this psychological burden still lives heavily in my subconscious – and I felt it made sense to keep a post like this active so that those reading my blog would understand my thought process. 

I ordered new boots online. They just came in today – and they don’t fit.

And now I’m sitting on the floor of my room, trying not to cry about it.

Sure, this is a common annoyance for anyone who orders an item of clothing online. After all, you can stick that tape measure every which way and assume that a medium is a medium is a medium everywhere – but there’s that chance that something still isn’t going to fit.

This isn’t what I’m talking about. This isn’t why I’ve shut my door and turned off my lights. This isn’t what sent all of my emotions spiraling home.

This is the moment in which I stop to look and see how far I’ve come – and yet, how much longer I have to go.

Continue reading “FROM THE ARCHIVES: Well, These Boots.”

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FROM THE ARCHIVES: Well, These Boots.

FROM THE ARCHIVES: So, I am fat.

EDIT: This was originally written and posted prior to my gastric bypass surgery, and subsequent weight loss, that took place three years ago. While many of these things are no long an outward daily struggle, a good deal of this psychological burden still lives heavily in my subconscious – and I felt it made sense to keep a post like this active so that those reading my blog would understand my thought process. 

So, I am fat.

Does that make anyone feel better? It’s the first time in nearly twelve years that I’ve actually said that. I’m tired of tiptoeing around my “weight problem,” or timidly stumbling over the word “heavy” whenever the conversation curved that way. I’m want to talk to you about what it’s like to be twenty-two, and fat. I’m going to share with you what it’s like to go through life knowing that people are staring, are judging, are sizing you up for disaster.

I’ve been fat since I was ten years old. Most girls were picking out training bras-nothing more than another layer of cloth to make them feel grown-up and important. I was already fitted for a B-cup, the straps cutting very real marks into my shoulders and causing sweat lines through my GapKids tees. I didn’t need to feel grown-up. I had already been tossed headfirst into it.

Continue reading “FROM THE ARCHIVES: So, I am fat.”

FROM THE ARCHIVES: So, I am fat.

Laminated Pages.

When I was in the second grade, my teacher Mrs. Ford decided that it would be a great learning experience for all of her students to write their own stories, split the stories up into pages, and illustrate each page with their own markers and crayons (and let’s be real, snot and dirt, too). She would then take those pages, laminate them and bind them together, and let us give them to our parents as gifts at the end of the year. It was a great way to get our young minds working, and a great way for us to saddle our parents with yet another little-kid memento to cry over when we headed off to college.

I remember thinking this was the coolest thing on the planet-cooler than the Pokemon cards my older cousin had given me; cooler than Kenya, which I had just done a report on and thought was the coolest place ever because it had elephants; even cooler than staying up late and watching Ren and Stimpy when I was TOTALLY NOT ALLOWED TO DO THAT. So I sat down at my desk and began to write, and write, and write.

At the end of the year, most kids had about six or seven books to give to their beaming parents. I had twenty-two.

Continue reading “Laminated Pages.”

Laminated Pages.