Two posts in one day? What??
First of all, it looks like three posts. I understand. This is because the first one was written around 12:30 am last night so the date is the same as today, but for normal people who count days by when they fall asleep it was yesterday. Follow? Which is why I am now going to put the time into the title box. Done.
Second of all, I have been doing a lot of thinking lately. I don’t really know what inspired all of this but I wanted to share.
I have pretty much always been fat. At least since puberty. I am not one of those people who has a ‘before’ they want to get back to. From the time that I had any sense of what a body should look like, I knew it was not like mine. This makes me incredibly sad. It also makes me wonder which came first: my being fat, or my thinking of myself as fat?
I was always a very artistic child - singing, painting, writing, etc. I took dance for about five years but I quit when I was nine. 9. Can anyone guess why I quit? It had something to do with floor to ceiling mirrors and leotards. Looking back at photos I realize that I really wasn’t all that fat. I certainly had baby fat around my tummy, but who knows if I would have grown or danced my way out of it? All I do know is what actually happened. At nine years old my hatred of my own body was so intense that I quit something I loved because I couldn’t stand watching myself move and do the steps next to the girls with the bean-pole model of nine-year-old girl bodies. I think that might be the thing I regret most in life. Could I have learned to love my body? Could I have been able to do an arabesque now? I still love dancing so much. It breaks my heart that I could deny myself that joy at such a young age for such a stupid reason. And I wonder if I wasn’t really fat then, did just thinking I was and hating myself turn it into a self-fulfilling thing? Was that when I started punishing myself by eating? Was that when I chose ignorance and dissociation over loving and living in my skin and bones and muscles?
I don’t know. All I know is where I ended up. And that is here. And here is shitty. And I am trying to change that here. And I have to admit: part of writing this out was to get it off my chest… but part of it was also about pushing that photo further down the page.
Full disclosure! I’m not proud of that secret motive; it is proof of lack of progress in this whole ‘loving my body’ fantasy project, BUT. For better or worse, all I can do is be honest with myself.