Only Wumpscut is loud enough for me today.
Sparky says...
Weight. It's always been a huge issue for me. It's always been a huge issue for my whole family.
Growing up I would say alcoholism and drug addiction was the first problem, but it was followed very closely and with just as much gusto by the weight topic. Throughout my life my father has bounced back and forth between 175 lbs to upwards of 300 lbs. I even suspect that he first started using cocaine, which would eventually lead to one of his downfalls, as a means to lose weight. His depression would set in, and he would eat to cope, since he couldn't use drugs anymore. Then as he would gain more weight, he would get more depressed, he would eat more, and so on. Until finally he would reach a breaking point where he would decided enough is enough, and turn to some radical diet or supposed miracle supplement (years ago he was one of the people who fell into the whole Fen-Phen debacle, losing a dramatic 200 lbs). All of this of course was to no avail, since the radical weight loss is simply what starts the whole cycle over again.
And then there is my mother. A woman who has never felt beautiful enough. She had/has has an eating disorder my life. She wouldn't eat anything at all, or if she did, she would either over-exercise or "feel sick" shortly after a meal. Growing up, my father had to practically be a drill sergeant about her eating habits, making damn certain she was eating, what she was eating, how much she was eating, when she was eating, and so forth. If he didn't do it, she wouldn't. I was often my father's spy. He would come home from work and ask for the daily report on my mother. I thought this was normal for a long time, just assuming that's the way things worked. When I was 10 I caught my mother throwing up behind a locked door. I panicked, thinking only that mommy is sick and I can't get to her! When she came out of the bathroom she sat me down, looked me in the eye, and said, "I was only sick. Okay? I was just sick and I am better now. Okay?" She stopped throwing up after that night. Her hands no longer smelled like vomit all the time, and she would actually stick around for conversation when dinner was through. However, even today, eating is not easy for her. I find myself having dinner with her more often than I should, just to make sure she is eating.
Then there are my own weight issues. I use to be a fat girl. At my heaviest I was close to 170 lbs. This is not in my head, I have pictures to prove it. Being fat and in a wheelchair, what a horrible combination. I lost the weight and I swore to myself I would never go back. I dare say there is no more of a euphoric feeling than having all the people look at you in wonder and tell you how good you look. And to know you look better than you did, and to know you put in the effort to improve yourself. My greatest fear is to have the tables turn. To be the subject of ridicule for letting myself go, again. To have those same people who offered me praise say what a shame it all is.
I'm having a fat day. I feel fat. I look fat. I am fat.
Fuck all the mirrors in my apartment.
Persy says...
You fat fucking cow
What the hell is wrong with you?
You're absolutelely disgusting
And you know it
But you won't fix it
How dare you make me endure this!
Again
Put the pieces back together
Like a pretty little puzzle
Make it perfect
Pronto!
