Secrets From A Fat.. SO?!

Archive for the category “Hard Times”

Words to Live By #1

I AM Enough by Chelsea Hellings

You cannot change what is a part of you,
Although I’ve often tried.
My body was never thin enough,
My imperfects I’d always hide.

I smiled when they said I was beautiful,
I laughed when they said I was great.
But it took a long time to believe in their wrods,
I figured lonelines was my fate.

The boys I wanted, didn’t want me.,
I was tossed, used and torn.
So many took me as a joke,
I crawled inside myself- scared and forlorn.

My self-eteem had let me down,
My belief in myself was nil.
I did not understand where I was headed,
Could not until….

I finally decided to believe in me,
I realized that I was worth so much.
This was when I could see through the storm,
When I allowed my soul to be touched.

I sometime wish for money and love,
When times get distressing and tough.
But I know that I will always love myself,
No mater what….

I AM ENOUGH!

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Story of a Girl

Once upon a time, there was a girl. And she was fat. She didn’t like being fat either. She thought everywhere she went people were judging her on her fatness because as life experience had taught her, they were. But this girl kept her head high, ruthlessly resilient and determined to prove to others that she was more than she appeared. For years she shouted from rooftops, preaching her differences, her ideas and ideals, believing that they made her special. The people around her would shake their heads and chuckle, sometimes even giving a small patronizing pat on the head, before shuffling along. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe her, they just never once took her seriously. She was of course, the girl with a million and one dreams. And she was lonely.

 Then this girl met a boy. She had met boys before. But the boys of Before either couldn’t see past her fatness or they tried to hold her back. The boys of Before were like statues, perfectly content where they were in life, and the girl wanted more. She wanted more, much more, only she wasn’t sure how to get it. And this boy, the boy of Now, was on a similar journey. The boy of Now understood how she felt about her body. He didn’t try to fix her but never the less, he was always there to help. He didn’t just listen with interest to every one of her million inane plans or her body concerns, he selflessly jumped in with both feet to help her. And befuddling to the girl, he found her beautiful. The boy shared his life with her. And so this girl and this boy became fast friends and helped support each one another.

For a few months, this boy and this girl lived in a bubble built for two. They shut the rest of the world out of their lives and for a while, that was enough. Months passed by and suddenly, the girl became restless. Through the bubble, she began watching the world move around without her. The life of two was just no longer good enough for her, and again she began to crave something more. Part of the void inside of her had been filled but it was like watching carbonation bubbles deflate after it reaches the top of a glass. Her cup had not yet runneth over. It wasn’t enough that the girl had found someone who loved her completely, she wanted the relationships she idolized that were cultivated on television. She wanted a Kramer and a Carrie and a Lorelei and a Phoebe in her life. In her own way, this girl wanted to create her own family.

“Suddenly I realized – two people isn’t enough. You need backup. If you’re only two people, and someone drops off the edge, then you’re on your own. Two isn’t a large enough number. You need three at least.” – About A Boy

But like any illusionist would have you to believe, such things are often much harder to come by than they appear. The thing was, the girl was lucky. Like all human beings, she had the tools to accomplish anything she ever wanted but, she just didn’t know how to use them. And so she went through life constantly asking the imaginary audience, “is this your card” until this girl finally had an epiphany. The truth is, the answer has always been there, had always been there and always will be. It was a simple question really: How could you really comprehend another’s love for you when you cannot understand what it is to love about yourself. Most know what it is to unconditionally love another soul but cannot comprehend what the other see’s in return. Or at the very least, I didn’t.

And so, a little over a year ago I went on a journey to change myself. I may not have understood what I was getting into when I started it all, and my attempts certainly didn’t intentionally begin that way but never the less, it’s where my feet, and heart, ended up. I don’t have all the answer’s yet, and I doubt I ever will. There are days when I feel like I am little more than an annoyance to be tolerated by all those around me and then other days that are full of such joy that words could not even put justice too. I understand now what it’s like to completely surrender one’s will to thyself, not to a god or any one person, and to love what they see. It’s more than not feeling guilty over eating a whole box of cookies. I don’t have to love the parts of me I deem as flaws, but I do accept that, as a whole, it doesn’t make me an ugly person.

It’s a journey of just letting yourself be happy, even when the world around you is constantly trying to rain on your parade. And it’s time to move on to the next chapter, I guess. If the first stage, or chapter, is just loving yourself, then the next is letting people in. That in itself is a scary thought. There are too many fears to simply relay in an already long-ish entry. Fears that are common that almost every single person has ever had like, what if I get hurt? If I can forgive, how do you trust again? How can I communicate well to others? How can I make others understand how I feel?

And the truth is like before, I don’t know. I don’t know how this next chapter will play out but, I can make the same promise as I did when I started out last year, to just keep trying.

A Spoonful of Medicine

-This entry is a little post dated-

I begrudgingly look down at the cup of fruit I’m eating for breakfast. I really don’t want to eat it because between the battle of fruits and veggies, I’ve always chosen my veggies. So while I imagine little faces on my fruit screaming “neener, neener, neener” at me, I know they’re the good medicine my body needs to be healthy. So I resentfully put the too bitter blackberry into my mouth, and slowly pick my way through. About halfway through my cup of fruit, I’m ready to throw in the towel. I feel full already but I push my way through because I know it’s an illusion. I’m about to start a nine our shift and I know what I just ate will burn off in about an hour. Besides, I just shelled out two-fifty on an already extremely tight budget. After watching my godmother and mother waste on food in a month is enough to feed a small impoverished village for a year (no exaggeration), I hate waste.

 When my much beloved cat Spice died last February, the vet pulled me aside and privately said, “A sign of a sick pet is when they stop grooming themselves.” And I remember how her furr had lost it’s shine, slightly matted on the side. I remember the sparkle had left her eyes. As I sit here this morning, my body trying to gag on a foreign concept of fresh fruit, I thought, couldn’t that same logic be applied to humans? Is it really that simple, that for years I haven’t put much of an effort into caring about simple things as styling my hair or putting makeup on because I was internally sick?  Besides the grapes and watermelon in this batch of food, my body is literally trying to reject the healthy food I’m putting in my mouth.

I think I’ve been sick for a long time. Like an ICU patient, I think I’ve finally been transfered out of intensive care and into rehab. The days I would take time to care about my apperance, usually fell to the first day my ex would be coming down to visit. Once every few months I’d get the urge to “doll myself up” and feel pretty. Shouldn’t that have been a sign? And if we’re going by that logic then am I starting to recover?  Because since my early preteens, most of the time I didn’t really care how I looked as I left the house. I mean I threw my hair back in the same ponytail that I still wear.  But now while most days I don’t style my hair, I do put makeup on and make an effort in my apperance. Does that mean I’m starting to fix the internal problems? It’s a good question.

I think so. I think when a person is internally sick, both the internal and external symptoms need to be treated. When we’re sick, we let ourselves go. We stop caring. We stop using over-indulgence as an occasional treat. We hide. From ourselves and everybody as well too. We pretend we don’t care. And when I say we, I really mean me. But maybe you too, who knows? All I know is that change is slow. Change takes time. All I can do is take one step at a time. I’m compromising with my body too. While it really doesn’t want to eat this cup of fruit, I reward it with a whole wheat bagel and a banana on my break. At lunch I pick up a turkey sandwhich instead of making a bee-line towards the deli and ask my body weither it wants a soda or a candy bar. Of course this is only just one day, one of my better days. But each day I’m trying. Each day I’m trying to get better.

Writing About Me

I love to write… but I have a hard time expressing my jumbled up thoughts into coherent sentences.

I have a hard enough time just speaking to people. I never know what to say. I never know if I come off genuine or fake. I work hard to make myself heard clearly instead of constantly having to reexplain my thoughts. I mull words over in my mouth like a wine snob. The words will float and swirl and sometimes I’ll gargle. But most of the time, the words get swallowed and only the hint of after taste of thought remains that I have trouble sharing.

You could say I have a hard time letting go of control. I want things to come out right the first time. And I have trouble writing and coming up with topics about the thing most people find easiest to talk about, yourself.

I found when I was trying to not write about men, that was the only thing I could write about. While my writing wasn’t anywhere near perfect, I found when I went to read old entries every now and then I’d find phrases I wrote that as a writer, would make me proudly smile. But I find the hardest thing for me to do it seems, is to write about me. Since writing about being fat, almost every entry has been a long hard struggle to finish. I write a few sentences, maybe a paragraph before saving the draft for another few days.

The hardest challenge I am having is coming up with topics to write about being fat. Yes, I’ll write about men too and how it affected me with my weight. But pinpointing specific topics, stories is becoming increasingly difficult for me. I don’t know what to do or where to turn for inspiration. Plus men aren’t the only concern I would like to write about. I’m utterly clueless. Help.

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