Sunday, February 03, 2008

Rexy-Rific

So, in recent weeks the subject my old friend Rexy (as in, you know, Ana...) has popped up into conversation. People laugh and are, admittedly, a bit uncomfortable when they look at some of my old photos. They are even more uncomfortable when I tell them how fat I felt back then. Today, tomorrow and always, I suppose. I look at the pictures now and wish with everything I am that I looked like that again. Sick- maybe. But what is even more insane is that mere fact that I know, deep inside, that if I was that bobble-headed girl again I'd still feel the way I do. Everyday.

For example, in editing and reviewing my blog, I ran across this... At 5'6 and 110 pounds, this is what I had to say for myself:

"Boney.

I was called boney last night. I don't know that I have ever been called boney. I have been called "portly" by a woman fitting me for a dance costume. "The portly girls will have to wear these" she said to the other seamstress. She obviously operated under the assumption that our "portliness" crept into our chubby ear canals, causing deafness. As if standing half naked wasn't bad enough at age 12... it felt like a scene from a TBS movie- the girl pledging the sorority, standing naked while her sisters circled the fat on her body with a sharpy.

I never joined a sorority.

I lucked out in junior high to not develop a nickname, like some of the other fat girls. No one made jokes about an earthquake coming down the hall, or tease me about what I ate for lunch. This was because I was well liked, I suppose. As well-liked as anyone felt in the hell that is junior high school. But this didn't stop my girlfriends from singing "1-800-94-Jenny" to me whenever they decided I was not cool for a week. I hated those weeks. I was banished to the table of too fat girls. Or too skinny girls. Too smart girls sat at the table next to us. Too poor girls next to them. But they all had one thing in common... they were all too something to be anything. I spent most of junior high hoping one of my so called friends would develop a thyroid condition causing them to balloon into the good year blimp, thus cementing my position with my friends.

High School I was "average." Medium. I would hear that the average size of a woman in America is a size 10. I was a size 10. I was normal. No one called me portly. Jenny Craig's theme song didn't ring in my ears. But no one called my thin either. Never petite, but at least I had a boyfriend. And having a boyfriend in high school is a must have accessory and any girl who denies it is lying or single.

College brought freedom and pizza. Friendship and China Express at 2am. Hook ups and Hot Dog Man. And then I got fat again. But of course no one called me anything at this time. But we all knew the facts. I was the fat girl again. Beautiful girls always have a token fat friend. That way they can go out and be assured that they will get all of the attention. Wingmen look at the fat friend and cringe a little. They know their fate for the night is with that porky girl. Entertaining her and making her forget her fatness, melting it away with his flirting and allowing her inner thin, confident woman to emerge. The illusion is ruined when she goes home alone, or, if enough alcohol was involved in the evening, goes home with her suitor, only to wake up to an empty bed. This is the way of the 20 somethings. And please don't hatemail me, random chubby girl who found my page. I'm not saying it's right. I'm saying it's true.The truth... sucks. Hurts too. But mostly sucks.

Now, I was lucky enough to have a boyfriend in college as well. I have always had a boyfriend. I have not been single since high school. This is not the rants of a girl desperate for a boy to like her. However, had I been single when I turned 21 and began to go to the bar scene, the above would have been my fate. I felt it. I felt the looks when we went to a party and the dancing began. My friends had a line behind them of guys who wanted to dance with them. All I can say is thank god for the BSU football/basketball boys at these parties. They danced with me because girl can dance. They didn't try to hook up with me, but I never failed for dance partners either.

So none of my friends commented on my weight. My professors did. They told me I was fat. They just phrased it differntly. As I gained weight my dance teacher urged me to come to the studio more for workouts on my technique. They suggested trips to the gym because I just didn't "Look like I felt confident" in my body. They forced me to take off my baggy sweats in dance class, to look at my body in my leotard and tights in the mirror every day. Suggestions about a diet were made. I knew they thought I was fat. They just didn't want to be mean. They might as well have been.

I remember going to the gym and getting on the scale there. As I read the number 185lbs I felt lightheaded. How did this happen? Where was the medium 135lbs girl I had come to college inhabiting? Apparently she was sitting at her table at Greeks Pizzaria inhailing food. The fat girl was out again. And she was on a roll... with extra butter please.

I suck at dieting. I don't know how to do it. I either restrict to ridiculous proportions or I binge and purge. I started my form of a diet: 10 grapes. 1 bite of pasta salad. No dressing. No mayo. I looked around my girlfriends and recognized that many of them were doing the same as me. They took trips to the bathroom following a mean, they barely touched their food. They worked out non-stop and examined their flaws in the mirror in dance. I watched them and was determined to keep up. It was fun, in a way. I felt normal. Like what we were doing was okay. My weight began to drop and I saw results. Fast results. And that's what we all like. Get the job done, no matter what it takes. That's the way of the world.

I entered a therapy program 2 years later. Intense and difficult I began taking my steps towards recovery. Carrie was my couselor and I adored her. At this point people called me "thin." Not too thin though. But at least it wasn't portly, or even average. I was finally down to 130lbs and on a 5'6 frame I suppose that is thin...ner. But I never looked unhealthily thin. For a long time that was just another failure. To have an eating disorder and not even do that right. It only fed my insecurities.

So to hear the word "boney" as I sat in my size two pants last night come out of my friends mouth was... I can't think of an adjective. It felt like a lie. Like when a fat girl asks you if she looks fat. You always say no. Even when it's a yes. And calling me boney felt like a lie. My friend that I hadn't seen in years asked me if I was eating. Again, it felt like a lie. I hope that someday I can look at my body in the mirror and not feel like I am in the fun house at the state fair, looking in the stretchy mirrors that makes your body look wider than it is. I'd like to love what I see reflected there.

I'd like to see me through others eyes. Because I truly have no idea what I look like."

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posted by Kellie @ 8:02 AM |

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