I have a dressy event coming up. I refuse to wear anything that shows my legs. Not even capris or crop pants. I have cankles and I know it. So, a short dress is out. I also refuse to show my arms. Sleeveless dresses are out. So I could wear a long dress with sleeves, and look really out of place at a mid-summer event, or I have to find a nice (evening nice, not just job interview nice) top and nice slacks.
Yada, yada, ordered a top, tried it on, it looks like a dress made out of plastic. No go. Saw some very interesting looking off the shoulder looks. Almost ordered one. Then tried on a sleeveless top at home (that I would ONLY wear with a sweater or jacket) and just looked at myself in it.
In the evening, after dinner, feeling kind of stuffed. No sucking in, all alone in the bathroom. Me and my reflection.
I am so, so, so unattractive. I am loathe to use words like "huge, gross, enormous" because I know when I see someone that weighs less than I do use those words, it stings. But whatever little sense of maybe kind of looking okay or at least better I had has gone RIGHT the fuck out the window.
I pretty much disgust myself. It doesn't really matter what I wear to this event, because no one will be looking at me. Or rather, no one will be looking at me and judging what I'm wearing.
Honestly, when you see someone that's very very overweight, are you evaluating their fashion choices? Or are you really thinking something either awful, ("*THAT* is why I do aerobics three times a week!") or patronizingly charitable, at best, ("Maybe they're on a weight loss journey, too.", "Good for them for getting out to an event like this!")
Maybe those thoughts make me a horrible person, but I think a lot of us have them, if we're brutally honest with ourselves.
In any case, this is the category I fall into. As long as I'm not ridiculously dressed, it doesn't matter. I'm not going to look GOOD in anything I try to wear, so the best I can do is disappear. Lipstick on the metaphorical pig, and all that. Maybe a dark gray cami and a black wrap or sweater over it, and black pants.
I even look at pictures of 14 year old me now...at 145 pounds and think, "I thought I was thin? I look pretty chunky..."
I can't fathom why the Girl is with me. Yeah, yeah, looks are only skin deep, personality is what's important, sure. but it's one thing not to look like Charlize Theron, and it's another to actually have the ability to gross someone out with your appearance. I'm lumpy and bulge-y and pasty. I don't actually have a jawline, it all just turns into neck. My upper arm hangs over my elbow. My calves hang down over my ankles. How has she stomached me for 3 years? I feel guilty for putting her through having a girlfriend that looks like me.
Did I even mention that I skipped aerobics class last night? The reason doesn't matter. It wasn't some extreme case of illness/injury/needing to be there for family. I swear I've gained 5 pounds just from skipping class.
I also finally broke down and measured out how many (fucking delicious) croutons I actually put on my salads. A serving is 2 tablespoons or 7 grams. Which is actually about 4 croutons (these are the Texas Toast kind, so slightly bigger than tiny ones). I use at least 12. So instead of getting about 35 calories from croutons as I've been tracking, I'm actually getting 100 or more. Sometimes I have a salad for lunch and for dinner.
Yes, 4 croutons for a serving is retarded, but so I am for not being real with myself and weighing and measuring. I know I'm also pretty liberal with my fruit, too. What really *is* a quarter cup of canteloupe wedges, anyhow?
So I feel the need to discipline myself. Partly for the willingness to look the other way with the croutons, more for allowing myself to feel as though I were starting to resemble a normal person.
No desserts this week. No more Skinny Cow ice creams, or tablespoon of chocolate chips with berries. I will go to class Thursday and Saturday, and I will go for a walk tonight, Friday, and Sunday. I've changed the entries for my salads to accurately reflect three servings of croutons (which I will now measure) and all fruit will also be measured.
Along with the dressy top disaster, I'd ordered two pair of jeans in a style I like in a size 12 and 14 since they were on clearance. Now, these jeans have a lot of stretch in them and run big. I tried on the 14s the other day and they fit. Not fit like I'd wear them in public, but fit like got them on, up, and buttoned and was still totally able to breathe.
I tossed both pairs of jeans, dressy disaster top and sleeveless top all back in the bag and returned them to the store today. I don't deserve them. Or rewards. Of any kind. I deserve to disappear. To fade into the background. To be grateful that the Girl gives me the time of day, and endeavor to try to earn the love she has for me. To hope she doesn't suddenly realize how totally out of my league she is.
To hide in the corner of my office behind giant monitors at work. To only slink out to dash to the restroom twice a day. To feel the need to apologize to the people I pass in the hallway just for being in their line of vision. I'm sorry you have to look at me. I'm trying my hardest to look like I'm not here, really.
I can see myself in the mirrors.
I have hundreds of them everywhere
and they talk back to me all the time.
They keep me true and pure.
I have hundreds of them everywhere
and they talk back to me all the time.
They keep me true and pure.
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