For those that know me, you are aware that I have struggled with my weight my entire life. Well, I take that back. Not exactly my entire life. When I was born, I weighed 5 lbs 11 oz; given that I entered the world a month before my due date. That thin frame didn't last long. In no time, I was a chubby little bundle of joy. Little rolls of fat on a baby are often considered cute. Not so much as an adult.
Over the years I only continued to gain weight. From chubby, to fat, to morbidly obese. Gotta love that term. Morbidly. None of the definitions are very flattering. And I don't suppose they should be. "Affected with or induced by disease". "Abnormally susceptible to or characterized by gloomy or unwholesome feelings". "Grizzly; gruesome". These words don't even begin to describe how it feels to be in this position. Unless you have been there you never will.
I wish I could consciously remember when my obsession with food started. It has never been my friend. Early on, somewhere along the way, I discovered how good of a comforter it was. How it soothed me. It was a snowball effect from there. As each year past, I put on more and more weight. Even when I thought I was doing something to help myself, I wasn't. I would go to school and not eat breakfast or lunch. Only to be so hungry by the time I got home that I more than made up for it. An undiagnosed thyroid problem didn't help matters either. With little to no metabolism to burn off the food, it just took up permanent residency in my fat cells; which in turn expanded to make more room. How nice of them.
I've endured years of torture because of my weight. Whoever decided that "names will never hurt me'' must not have been ridiculed very much. School was an ultimate nightmare for me. Imagine going to a place day in and day out where you were the butt of everyone's joke. Where you were made to feel like less of a person, because you were physically "more" of one. A place where you felt foreign, unwanted, and out of place. That was my entire adolescence. The crueler kids were, the more I ate. The words cut deep, and I used food as a tourniquet; trying endlessly to stop the bleeding.
The torment seemed never-ending. I knew I needed to find a way to survive it. My best defense was a smile. Regardless of what I felt like inside, I put on a good front. I should've been an actress. But then, I wouldn't fit into Hollywood standards very well. Literally. I can all but taste (ironic choice of words) the victory. "And the Oscar goes too..." I would be a shoo-in! The smile on my face was all but painted on. I say "was", but in many respects that is still the case. It's become automatic. Ingrained. It used to take effort to appear as if everything is alright. Now, it comes second nature. I can fool you in a moment's notice. At least to those who do not know me that well.
Luckily, I am also pretty witty. Humor is like my shield; a coat of armor that I use to defend myself against those wielding verbalized swords at me. If I get people laughing, then I feel they have less time to judge me; at least openly and to my face. What they think in their heads doesn't sting like the words that travel through my eardrum where they resonate over and over again, until they get imprinted into my brain and leave another lash across my heart. How many more scars can one person take?
Don't get me wrong. I am blessed to have a lot of good people in my life that make me smile and laugh for all the right reasons. It is not always an act. But when I feel the threat coming on, I know to suit up and get ready for battle. I face the stares, whispers, and comments through gritted teeth and a smile. Pretend I'm oblivious to it if I can. Never let them see my pain. At the end of the day I know I can go home to a place where I am wanted, loved, and not judged. A place where I can take off the armor, drop the act, and just be me. If need be, I can remove the smile and let the tears fall...
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Barbara Weicksel
Jaime Franchi
FusunA
heysuz
Cranky Cuss
Jersey Girl at Heart
Salon.com
Comments
http://open.salon.com/blog/thoth/2009/07/11/conformism_and_the_perversion_of_the_american_male
I like your expression and description. R