Fucking Myself Over.

I was busy all day yesterday; I went with a friend to help her get her wedding dress. We drove all over, including to my new job’s main office to fill out W-2 paperwork. We ate lunch at the Panda Express, and I ate orange chicken with fried rice in a deceptively large bowl. I felt ill afterwards. It was so fattening and greasy, I just wanted to puke it all up.

But I didn’t, because I had spent my last bit of money on it and I had to keep what I had in my stomach for finance’s sake.

We go home, I sit down and never get up. I play on the computer, I walk the dog a few times, but I am NOT MOVING. I can’t get the motivation to do any sort of exercise video, I just don’t. do. shit.

Husband makes spaghetti, green beans and ghetto garlic cheese bread for dinner. I finish it up with a bowl of cocoa puffs later before going back over to a friend’s house to watch our favorite show.

I have a diet dr. pepper there. And cheese and crackers.

This morning I’ve been craving Starbucks, but I have literally NO MONEY with which to get said drink. Instead, I’ve had a bowl of ice cream.

HOW DO I FUCKING EAT LIKE A NORMAL PERSON?

how do I make it so that food is just fuel, it’s not an indulgence or a pleasure or a need?

why can’t I just live with an IV drip?

I wish I could walk away in frustration from myself.

But I can’t walk that quickly.

Focusing on What’s Around Me, or Where the Fuck is MY Eating Disorder?

I read a lot of celebrity blogs. I started doing it on a whim, ironically, as if to laugh and point at the stars and simultaneously laugh and point at the sites (and patrons of those sites) for their pathetic attempt to put forth edifying content. How sad, I would gloat in my mind, how sad that people check these every day just to hear the minor details of others’ lives, what they ate and where they went and what they wore.

Then I started feeling genuine interest underneath my self-righteous contempt. I wanted to know what Britney was thinking when she wore that outfit, what really went down when Own Wilson was committed, whether Lindsay’s rehab actually did anything for her or if it were a mini-vacation from her whirlwind life. I rebuffed my interest with the intellectual knowledge that these people don’t matter, they’re just something to fill the boring moments I have in life, when nothing else is going down.

And then my boredom-killer became my normal form of entertainment. Somewhere between here and there, I dropped the disaffected act and read the sites like anyone else. I’m not obsessed, I’m not a mega-fan of anyone in particular, but I do find the bodies of these celebrities absolutely fascinating.

In homage to this odd semi-obsession (it’s not full blown, I promise, or else this would BE a celeblog) I’ve created a section in my Flickr account devoted to People I Will Never Look Like. Mainly the shots are women, young and old, in bikinis or scantily clad, revealing the taut physiques and tantalizing curves I will never obtain. Never, not even if I lose half my body weight. I don’t include these to build an ED-esque shrine to these bodies, but rather to collect the images that have been barraging me all my life. Collect them into one little space and examine them all together, understand what they are doing to me and whether or not I will accept it.

I know many girls develop anorexia or bulimia from this media blitz of the skinny bitches. But I obviously haven’t gotten anything of that sort (since one of the first necessary requirements of these EDs is a below-average weight, ha ha)… so where is my eating disorder? If I have been ingesting this unobtainable perfection and it has obviously fucked me up mentally, where is my physical display of it?

I feel like I ingest the images and then go ingest more food. Anorexics and bulimics have more common sense than I do, they are more rational. Those who do it because they want to be thin (rather than those who do it to control other issues they have like abuse or neglect) actually make an “If A then B” connection: If I am fat, then I will not eat. Duh. It’s the basic tenants of any diet, only taken to the extreme.

Why can’t I just simply not eat? Or not allow myself to enjoy eating as much as I do? Where is my eating disorder?

My best friend has severe anorexic and bulimic issues, and we’ve discussed our separate situations before. We always see the grass greener on the other side; I would kill to be able to starve myself, and she would kill to be able to eat normally (if not more than normally). I feel like what I lack is the shame and self-hatred to motivate me to change… which is funny, since I feel full of that. Hence the embarrassing photos of myself. Hence the pictures of People I will never resemble…. it all makes me feel like I need to change things NOW.

Read: change things, as in eat differently and exercise and attempt to reconfigure my fucked up way of dealing with food. Do NOT read: get an eating disorder. Because trust me, I’ve tried, and I *cannot* stick to one. Starving leads to dizziness and danger for my huge ass frame, and throwing up leads to nothing but bad heartburn and a sore throat.  I have to make a change in a different way, and I’m hoping WW online is going to help me do that.

I know I posted already but I may blow this site up with my posts. Thoughts come in a frenzy of disgust and elation with me, that’s how I roll.

Ha. It’s funny cuz I’m FAT. get it?

Unwavering Laziness, Bitter Thoughts and 20 More Pounds

I’m eating a bowl of non-fat vanilla yogurt with a few raspberries thrown in.

It’s the only semi-natural food I’ve eaten all day. Everything else has been either so overly processed or frozen, heated, grown cold and re-heated again that I can’t believe I’m not just a walking bag of inorganic chemicals at this point.

I had almost forgotten about this blog, I’ve actually been working on a different one involving my career choices and experiences for awhile… but I’ve needed this one.

I’ve needed this one for a long time.

I want to make something clear… to myself and to anyone else who reads this blog.

I’m writing this for my own sake. So I can get the venom that is in my head out. I am not responsible for how it makes you feel. Essentially, I’m too lazy to write a fat chick journal by hand and I’m going to put my thoughts here. They’re already inevitably dark, miserable, and horribly sarcastic, so heads up.

I’ve revamped the site, added a flickr meant only for this vein of thinking, including horrible pictures of myself. Edited to leave out my face, of course, but they’re all me. The huge mass that I am.

I was 330 when I last wrote here? I’m 351 now. That’s down from about 370 when I realized I was going to kill myself or worse if I didn’t do something about my weight. I’m just so fucking miserable ALL the time. There’s never a moment where I’m not concerned over my weight, my size, the room I take up compared to others.

I’ve been doing Weight Watchers online, and I’ve been fairly good about it… until my interest died out in the past few weeks. I feel it’s hopeless. I feel I can’t change.

But this is where I’m going to devote myself to browbeating the change until it comes naturally.

It’s summer, I have no job, I’m listless and jobless and pointless. I will not go to fucking waste.

Feel free to come along for the ride with me, but if I’m in this on my own, it’s okay.

I just have to find a way to focus.

Tomorrow’s goals:

exercise with at least one tape/dvd that I have available.

actually record my food on the WW site.

Plan a meal.

Stop being a HUGE FAT FUCK. *sigh*

Introductions All Around

If there were ever anyone capable of raping and murdering me, it would be the Bug Spray guy who comes to the apartments every 2nd Thursday of the month.

I’m a 330 lb, 5’10″ woman of 24 years, obviously more woman than any attacker is really ready and/or willing to handle. Yet this guy, this Bug Man, he looks like he could take me. Beyond that, he looks like he wouldn’t mind trying.

Some think of obesity as a safeguard against rape and assault; we fat chicks don’t face the same threats that the skinny bitches do. The way the Bug Man looks at me, that’s how 70% of all men look at a skinny counterpart. I don’t know how those girls stand it, honestly.

So I guess the reason this entire site has been born is because I have thoughts like this and can’t share them with anyone. Not even my fellow fat friends need to hear this, because really no one gives a shit about it except me. And now you.

I hate hate HATE how I am. It’s constantly on my mind; the way my body shape is affecting others, reflecting on myself, doing for my life. I obsess about it continually, but apparently that’s not enough to motivate me into a highly rigorous exercise program and/or a starvation method to stop my eating. I’ve been fat my entire life; the last time I was a “normal” weight, I was five years old. I’ve always been one of the largest people in a room, and no matter what I’ve done it’s never changed.

That would be bad enough, but now I’m getting worse.

I’m gaining and I’m not sure how to stop it. What to do with it. How to prevent it from ruining my life.

I can’t move well, I feel like I’m swimming in someone else’s mass. Seriously, this has got to fucking stop.

What can I do? Write myself into motivation, that’s what I’m attempting here. You’ll help, right? If I can put my painful, ridiculous, moody fat thoughts onto a page, I can make myself see what I’m doing right?

Right.

Here’s to fat chicks.