big girl problems

Ahh, there's nothing quite so attractive as the sight of someone shoving Vicks Vaporub up their reddened nose with a cotton bud.  It's moments like these you really know you're alive...

I'm in the midst of some 'ugly days' at present.  I usually say I'm having an 'ugly day' when I just feel, regardless of effort or time, that I am intrinsically unattractive that day.  Be it a spot on my face, my hair misbehaving or simply the 'vibe'.  I wonder if everyone has these days?

For me, there's no more sobering a sight than seeing my own ugly rear reflected at me in a target change room. Is that really what people see when they are behind me? Wow I am ghastly. And I wasn't even the one trying anything on. Low blow.

I can't speak for all large/overweight/obese people out there - but for me - I know I'm big, but I never think I'm that big.  The photo is taken from a bad angle, the clothing item didn't suit my shape, sizes are changing, blah, blah, blah... It's only until you catch an unexpected glance in a reflective surface that you realise the scale of yourself - my upper arm really is that big? Is that how much surface of the chair my ass really takes up? It's like normally you look at yourself in bits - like through a peephole or those glasses they use for an eclipse - I'm not usually taking in the whole picture, because deep down, I know, it's not pretty.

This stuff is difficult for me to talk about, because it is so delicate a subject for me.  It is my achilles heel, my glass jaw, my vulnerable weak spot.

There's a joke I've seen that goes something like "I am in shape - round is a shape." That may be true, but hate is hate.

I know we should accept who we are, for what we are - but I cannot.  It's not like I eat healthy and exercise everyday and just happen to look like this because I have big bones.  No, I know that while genetics can bear a little of the blame here, I am ultimately my own keeper in this personal hell.  I hold the keys, I have the way out, but I seem incapable of initiating the escape. Why?

For one, it's not fucking easy - sometimes I naively think it'd be grand if I could make myself vomit.  I'm scared of failing, of falling 'off the wagon' like the million times before.  To an extent, I think I'm scared of being attractive - if men starting paying me attention, I don't know how I would deal with that. Or, maybe, food is one of the only things that makes me happy, and I'm not willing to give it up.  Perhaps it's as simple as that.  Perhaps I don't want another 'problem' that makes me different from everyone else, again.

But when I see myself, really see myself, chocolate is the furthest thing from my mind.

Right now, I think if I could make a deal to never eat chocolate again - and in return wake up to be thin and beautiful, I would do it. How I wish it were easy.  How I wish this self hate, the internal dialogue I have with myself every-single-day would at least contribute to massive calorie burning.  Maybe that would make the chatter worth it.

But, I guess if things were that easy, that if deals could really be made - then hell would likely be full of 'former fatties' and there would be no room for the truly horrible people.

I know I've said it before - ashamedly I say it most Sunday evenings - but I am going to make some changes.  I am going to start with little steps, and hope that with a little practise I can dance the whole routine of self acceptance someday.

SB

another late night epiphany

I half-heartedly joked recently with someone, that I had 'dropped my bundle'. This is not entirely untrue. It's pretty clear that my bundle has been in a progressively poor state.

I had hoped that having time off from work would help me piece myself together, locate my 'bundle' or whatever remnants are left. Truth is, I don't know where to begin looking.  If I'm being truthful with myself, I realise this 'relocation' will come from looking within, rather than searching outside myself.

What exactly are the problems?

I can't let go of John. I live in a state of make believe and wishes - where I play out his return or my arrival, or that magical email that tells me I belong to him. If we look deeper, he represents a lost chance, another example of moments not ceased, of moments spent hiding away. Maybe John is just another substitute for acceptance, love of self, and the notion that someone could actually love me. I have to say, that is a foreign reality to me. Maybe I hang onto John so tightly, because if I don't, he becomes another example of someone I was wrong about; evidence I am in fact disgusting and awful and unlovable. Those stinging words, bring tears to my eyes and here we arrive at the root cause - I just want to be in love. I just want someone to love me, not because they have to - because they need to. That poor bastard John, to be the keeper of this and not even know it.

I know what I have to do. Cease communication. No more emails, messages or cute innuendo. It probably just confuses him and leaves me hurt. What is the point of prolonging the pain? If he writes to me, I'll answer - if he doesn't, he is free and I have my answer. From this moment on, he is released. I will try very hard to expect nothing, and when it comes, I'll try even harder to be unsurprised.

I hate myself, I hate what I look like. I'm overweight and insecure; all I want to be is a delicate swan - what I am is an awkward ox. Nobody wants the ox, everyone wants the swan - I want the swan.

So, I must set up a timetable for exercise - make an effort. Eat consciously; use my stomach as the sensor and not my heart. There is no food in existence that can fill this void.

Work - try not to take things so personally. Being all things to all people leaves me with nothing. Do my job to the best of my ability - do not enter into rumour or judgement - be an island as much as I can. At worst, bide my time until I can jump ship, keep an eye on the jobs pages. Keep an open mind.

Above all, retain hope that someday soon all of 'this' is going to be worth it - that it will deliver the ultimate prize...contentment.

SB xx

Mind your smalls

It's been a few days. I'm a little bit all over the place - but seemingly this is nothing new for me!

My overseas travel plans are becoming more concrete. I've had to sign some paperwork and put down a rather substantial deposit recently. It's getting really real - and I'm getting really quite nervous. But I know that I need to push through it. In essence, there is no good reason why I shouldn't go and many reasons why I should. Be strong StrangeBird!

The last few days I've been feeling very unattractive and uncomfortable in myself. I hate feeling this way. The doubting spreads like a bad weed and spoils every portion of my being. It's inescapable - like Indiana Jones running through the tunnel with that giant boulder chasing behind, my insecurities nip at my heels - always there, making the current situation dire. Today's 'incident' just kind of makes me feel even worse...

Today I was in a looking around in local shopping complex - thinking to myself that I really need to find some new underwear - because BONDS has basically fucked up the design of the undies I used to love. Anyway - of course, the underwear I want to have a look at, would be on an outer aisle - where there is a great fucking divide of open space, leading conveniently to the shop storeroom. I muster the courage, remind myself that I'm a big girl and go in for the look. Acutely aware of all the loitering staff, apparently with not much to do, I still go about my business, resolved to get a pair of the scarlet red lacy number that caught my eye. Around me, I can hear the toad-ish staff members failing to organise themselves - they are calling over someone named Trav, he's carting around a load of stock - he's just pulled up his trolley at the end of the aisle... my aisle, about 5 metres away from where I stand, knickers in hand. All the noise of the useless women trying to organise this one young man has caught my attention and I look up - just as he looks in my direction - then, a quick dodge of the eye and I see him squint his face and turn away. One of the toad-ish girls exclaims "What's wrong Trav, have you got something in your eye?" and he replies, quietly "Nah - that lady over there".... and then it dawns on me, I was the 'lady' in this equation. He feigned eye debris, in an attempt to preserve some of my... dignity?! I was caught, scarlet-red handed! I didn't know what to feel - I fled rather quickly, but I was left with the resounding feeling that he was trying to be polite - which is kind of a rare occurrence in this day and age. Now, what has this experience taught me? - not to shop for underwear in Target! Oh, the shame!

I'm feeling very stressed. Thinking about money - money for Christmas, for my holiday, for the study leave I want to take but can't afford, for all the things I want, to feed my expensive taste and hollow dreams. I'm a sad little mess tonight.

SB xx

you can take the girl out of repression, but you can't take repression out of the girl

I was in a workshop recently, during which at one point the subject of 'sexuality' became relevant. Not 'sexuality' in terms of gender and preferred sexual desires - but 'sexuality' in it's broader sense. And, I came to realise at that moment, that I really didn't know much about it at all - a fact which kind of scares me... but one that is not altogether surprising.

At one point we were challenged to grab a partner, and discuss with them our 'sexuality'. I had nothing, didn't know where to start - didn't even know how to fake it - I had no point of reference, no pearls of greatness to regurgitate from an outside source - zip. Realising, after some blank stares and red faces, that the facilitator really just wanted us to experience the awkwardness that can arise from the subject, I sighed in relief and tucked my chair into the desk, sat up tall and waited attentively for this lady to tell me what I should know.

During the partner theatrics, an amusing thought crossed my mind - I imagined myself standing up in the room and announcing "hello, my name is StrangeBird, and I suffer from unrequited love." Sometimes I think there'd be great relief in owning up to those feelings. But then, there's my familiar friend repression. It brought back memories of another equally confusing time.

When I was 'coming of age'... getting the boobs, the period... you know. Well, my Mum sat me down and tried to reassure me in her matter of fact kind of way that it was exciting to be becoming a woman. Congratulations she declared - I didn't feel like congratulations was in order.. as far as I could see, there was no real benefit to bleeding on schedule or being ridiculed by my class mates for having to wear a bra. Nothing cool about that at all... still fail to see the complete awesomeness of it all.

To accompany my small chat of avoidance, my Mum one day presented me with the stock-standard puberty book of the day - I can't even remember the title now, but it was something like 'So now what?... or 'What to expect?' When she gave me the book - she gave me strict instructions only to read the girl bits - and to help me avoid the naughty boy bits, she pegged the pages shut she didn't want me to read. Yep - that's right, I said pegged... I suppose I should've been grateful she didn't glue them - but then the shame of slipping away unseen with a large book on puberty covered in masses of pegs clipped to it, just wouldn't have been matched. So, by the end of the brief chat, not only was I scared, but also ashamed. I ran off with the book - immediately hid it behind my desk, whereupon some many days later I would brush off the dust and have a look. From memory I think I may have maneuvered some pages in such a way that I took a peek at the boy bits... but I still felt dirty for doing so.

Remembering this made me realise this is probably part of the reason I wasn't able to comprehend 'sexuality' it all it's complexities. This was just one moment, out of my whole life where the people around me, sheltered me and also themselves from the discomfort of awkward subjects. I can see now that my 'issues' with men, sex, body probably seeded from moments like these.

I guess the question is now, how to fix it? An answer I suspect, that will be a long time in the making, and probably not to be found in the procrastinations of this blog.

SB xx

Weighty Wings

Lets set the scene.... I'm sitting here at my computer, a knitted nanna shawl draped over my broad shoulders. The shawl is suppressing my already weighed down wings, and I am listening to AIR's 'Moon Safari'... why am I listening to an album called 'Moon Safari' and why the fuck did I buy it? This shit makes me want to slit my wrists. Excuse me, while I change it...

That's better. Almost-all is right in the world again.

I could fly if I wanted to. So why is it I refuse to let myself? I sabotage my own state, for what? For fear? The same things that make me want to break out, also keep me caged in. All this theatrics just to say I'm overweight; I'm fat, FATTY FAT FAT.... fatty boom-ba, all of it and more. I cringe as I write this.

I always wanted to be the strong person, able to say 'fuck you' to anyone who dared judge me on the way I looked. I wanted to be the kind of woman, proud of whatever shape I was - determined to accept myself, and demanding of others acceptance. But I'm not like that. It doesn't matter which way you word it. In a room full of glamorous, plus sized women, I would no doubt feel empowered and strong... but in the real world - where the room is full of women who are all shapes and sizes, and who are less and less like me - I couldn't be further from strong. I can't hold a conversation, I'm too busy trying to hold my guts in; embellishing on their glances of judgement on me.

I don't want to be an idol; I don't want to be unrealistic and I don't believe in 'perfect' - but I just don't want to be like this. I want to look more like 'normal', 'average'. The entirety of my existence has a big fucking 'X-Large' tag on it. I hate it. I hate me.

So what am I going to do? I have to stop it, clearly. I can't wear this fat suit anymore. It is like my armour - but it's has become too heavy to bear, and rather than protecting me, it's starting to lock me in.

Step by step, I have to make changes. I know that I have set off on many-a-path, with the same intentions, many times before - but this time it has to be different.

I hate admitting on here what I am. I feel ashamed. Worst of all, as soon as I say I'm fat, that's it - I'm done for - fat is a deal breaker in the minds eye. No one wants a fatty for a friend.. except maybe another fatty.

Tomorrow the change begins. I begin it for me. Rather than being a sign of conformity (which I detest), I must think of it as a sign that says, I refuse to be defined by the way I look!

Wish me luck universe, I'm going to need it.

SB xx