I used to be really heavy. I weighed in at a glorious 250 pounds, measuring only 5’4. Try not to be jealous. I have been overweight my entire life. And when I wasn’t fat, I thought I was. I remember being in the first grade and thinking about how fat I was and would the other kids hate me? That led to a lot of years with me thinking, “I’m already overweight, what harm is this candy bar going to do?” That sad thing is, when I look back on those elementary school pictures, I wasn’t heavier than any other kid. I had round chipmunk cheeks but most kids do. I really wish I hadn’t been so hard on myself, I think it would have saved me years and years of suffering and self-hate. I don’t even know where I got the idea that I was so fat and that people wouldn’t like me because of it. I don’t remember hearing anything negative from my parents and my brothers and sisters didn’t tease me about that kind of stuff.
And I only have one single memory of anyone saying anything mean to me. ONE single kid, some dumbass punk. I can’t believe I let something he said affect my life like it did. Something to stupid and so minor. He probably never gave it a second thought after the words left his mouth.
I was in the sixth grade and it was my very first day there. New pencils, paper, erasers. Pencil boxes. God, I loved (um, still love obviously, lol) school supplies. I was a transfer during the second nine weeks, so I was already feeling like an outcast. I had just gotten one of those 3-ring binders, with the clear plastic cover. Remember when those first came out? I had decorated the cover of the binder with pictures of my family and NKOTB stickers. I had a picture of my two sisters, front and center. I always thought they were so beautiful in that picture and I was so so proud. Anyway, the teacher had welcomed me to the class, I’d found my seat and she was letting the class come around and say hi. Kids were walking by and commenting on my binder. Finally, Ronald (name NOT protected to protect his identity. I hope he reads this and feels bad, bad, bad) walked by and introduced himself. He seemed so nice and automatically, I was thinking first boyfriend potential. Please. He was twelve and he looked like Joey McIntyre. That’s all I needed to cement our love. He looked at my notebook and said, “Oh, who’s that?” I smiled coquettishly and said, “Those are my sisters. Aren’t they pretty?” He smiled and nodded. Then he said, “Yeah. They are. What happened to you?”
Ouch.
Stupid, rat-ass, monkey-fucking bastard.
I hated him so much. That entire year was ruined, saved only by the best teacher I ever had. She put me in with the geeks and praised me for being an advanced reader. I joined the writing club, the science club, the nature club and the reading club that year. I amde friends. All in all, it should have been a good year. But one comment from one kid ruined the entire thing for me. I will never get that year back.
I wasn’t pretty, sure. But I was twelve. I had a small head and big teeth. I wore glasses and I’m pretty sure I had bad hair. And I never let myself enjoy anything that year. How could I, when everyone obviously thought I was hideous? I’m not sure how one boy turned into “everyone” but it happened.
I actually didn’t start getting pudgy until the eighth grade. That was my very first year to home school. Great decision, Mom and Dad! I basically spent five years playing Nintendo and watching Days of Our Lives. I can’t do math to save my life but I can seriously kick your ass in any Super Mario Bros or Zelda game. That doesn’t look so good on your resume, though. College education? No. Hand/Eye coordination? A+!
I had a gastric bypass in September of 2004. It wasn’t something that I just decided to do on a whim. I spent a lot of time researching and a lot of time saving money. I had spent years trying to lose weight and it would always come right back on. I exercised. I ate right. I honestly worked very hard to lose weight. But I was tired. Tired of being fat; tired of thinking I was ugly. I was fairly young to have the surgery but I did not want to spend twenty more years battling pudge, only to end up having the surgery later in life when I would have more lose and it would be harder for me to recover. I ended up losing about ninety pounds in all. I still actually need to lose about forty more, so having a gastric bypass certainly wasn’t a miracle cure. But it’s the best and wisest thing I ever did for myself. I’ve recently started exercising again and I’m gradually trying to improve the things I eat. I like my treadmill time and I love Pilates. I don’t eat a lot in quantity but the quality has been so-so lately. I haven’t been getting in nearly enough protein and vegetables. My husband is so damn picky and it’s expensive and frustrating to buy separate groceries for each of us. But I’m slowly trying to change out his macaroni and cheese for something green every now and then, when he’s too tired to notice. If only I didn’t love the stuff as much as he does. But I’m working on it and I’m exercising. I’m cutting way back on alcohol. I’m getting healthier: mentally and physically. I’ve got a long way to go but I’m looking forward to see what I can do.
So, this post is dedicated to Ronald.
Fuck off.
