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I cannot recall a time that I've been comfortable in my own skin. Oh, I'm sure I've been gleefully happy being me...undoubtably when I was a child and couldn't grasp the English language enough to understand what people were saying around me. Bit by bit my esteem's been chipped away. Thanks, mom, for making those faces when I was trying on clothing in various stores. I really really appreciated you commenting that I should be "ashamed" of the way I looked. I'll make sure to bring that up to my therapist, okay? And thanks, citizens of Trinidad, for calling out derogatory names at me as I visited your wonderful country in 1994. You made my trips loads of fun. I'll make sure to bomb your beautiful beaches first thing when the revolution starts. And, oh, dad? When you called me "fat" and forced me to run while making fun of me? That really helped me hate both myself and you. Totally effective in the long run. I look forward to not treating my child to the same thing.
I've been fighting with weight all my life. Battling battling battling, and my body bears the scars.
So I go to the Y because it's swim class day. Yay. And I go on the scale because, hey, it's there. And I stare, because apparently I've *gained* weight. A pound, max, but that's so not what I need right now. The logical, reasonable side of my brain says it's most likely muscle mass; I've been active like crazy lately. But the more powerful beaten and abused part of my brain says "Well, muscle mass, schmuscle mass, you still have to put on a swimsuit and walk to the pool where everyone can see you". Up and down the locker room walk women in various states of undress. I see them and I can't believe they can walk around naked without a second thought. Then again, what do they have to worry about?
I head to the pool and jump into to water. It's still freezing; they need to fix the heater already. I'm acutely aware of the people looking in from the glass paneling in the lobby. And the people looking down from the second floor running track. And the fellow swimmers. Because of them all I'm also acutely aware of my thighs, my hips, my stomach, and my bust. I wait, it's time for class to start, and none of my classmates are there yet. The instructor jokes and says I might end up having a private lesson and I freak inside, looking down at myself, across at the wide double lane, and around at all the people. Luckily three other people show up during the five minute grace period given and we start. I tried to ignore the voices inside my head, the echoes from the past, but it wasn't much good. Every time I saw someone look my way I imagined them thinking "God, look at the whale". Within the course of a week I'd gone from Ahab to Moby. I tried not to kick so much (I realize I have a powerful one) to keep attention from myself, but all that did was stop me from moving. When class was done I stayed for a little longer, until I was able to blank out enough of my brain to get out of the pool without major mental drama, and then left after the area'd become a little quieter.
Basically my evening. It's me, most days.
And no blithe cheery comments, please. In case it hadn't become apparent, I really despise those.
I've been fighting with weight all my life. Battling battling battling, and my body bears the scars.
So I go to the Y because it's swim class day. Yay. And I go on the scale because, hey, it's there. And I stare, because apparently I've *gained* weight. A pound, max, but that's so not what I need right now. The logical, reasonable side of my brain says it's most likely muscle mass; I've been active like crazy lately. But the more powerful beaten and abused part of my brain says "Well, muscle mass, schmuscle mass, you still have to put on a swimsuit and walk to the pool where everyone can see you". Up and down the locker room walk women in various states of undress. I see them and I can't believe they can walk around naked without a second thought. Then again, what do they have to worry about?
I head to the pool and jump into to water. It's still freezing; they need to fix the heater already. I'm acutely aware of the people looking in from the glass paneling in the lobby. And the people looking down from the second floor running track. And the fellow swimmers. Because of them all I'm also acutely aware of my thighs, my hips, my stomach, and my bust. I wait, it's time for class to start, and none of my classmates are there yet. The instructor jokes and says I might end up having a private lesson and I freak inside, looking down at myself, across at the wide double lane, and around at all the people. Luckily three other people show up during the five minute grace period given and we start. I tried to ignore the voices inside my head, the echoes from the past, but it wasn't much good. Every time I saw someone look my way I imagined them thinking "God, look at the whale". Within the course of a week I'd gone from Ahab to Moby. I tried not to kick so much (I realize I have a powerful one) to keep attention from myself, but all that did was stop me from moving. When class was done I stayed for a little longer, until I was able to blank out enough of my brain to get out of the pool without major mental drama, and then left after the area'd become a little quieter.
Basically my evening. It's me, most days.
And no blithe cheery comments, please. In case it hadn't become apparent, I really despise those.
