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I’m Making My Boyfriend Fat

This was going to be, “I Hate My Boyfriend’s Mother,” and I’m going to get to that, but then I started getting down on myself.

L’s family is really big on healthy eating. And, well, I’m most definitely not. Not that I don’t want to be. I’m just super picky. And I struggle greatly to control myself. Especially since I got depression. (Yes, I -got- depression. I wasn’t depressed before or during most of college). I have noticed that since we started dating seven and half months ago, he’s developed a little gut. But I didn’t care in the least. Besides, I quite like guts.

But L’s parents have noticed, too. And they’re getting on his case about it. Now I’m getting concerned. Is it really that big a deal? Do other people notice, too? Do his coworkers? Does the public? Is he going to get even bigger because I’m encouraging him too much to eat just like me? Not that I care if he’s big or small, trust me on that. I just don’t want him to feel what I feel. I don’t want his parents to treat him the way they treat me behind my back. Except it won’t be behind his back. And it’ll be worse. And it’ll be all my fault.

Besides, being healthy is a good thing. And I’m making his unhealthy. That’s bad. :(.

I hate his parents. I hate his parents. I. Hate. His. Parents.

They came up with some bullshit today that he has an obligation to his family and should eat dinner with them.

He’s 28 years old.

He has no obligation to them beyond chores because he lives in their house.

He’s in that house all the time, cleaning it from top to bottom, doing laundry, doing dishes, while no one else lifts a fuckin finger. Excuse him if he wants to go have dinner with his girlfriend who doesn’t like the fish you guys are having. And who would refuse to eat with you anyway because you treat both of us like shit. I know they think I’m shit because I’m fat, I’m taking him away from them, and am making him fat.

My counselor told me that my eating habits should be none of my parents’ business, because I’m 24 years old. If that’s true, then that goes for L’s parents, too. If he wants to match my eating habits, that’s none of their freakin’ business. They have no right to say anything about anything about his eating or weight.

But I still feel bad I’m making my boyfriend fat and unhealthy just like me :(.

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Posted by on February 23, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Dinner at My Boyfriend’s Family’s

I was invited to a dinner thing my boyfriend, L’s, mother was throwing. So I head over after work. I’m the first one there, so when the next guest arrives, I go to help L control the dogs and open the door.

What’s the first thing L’s mom’s friend, K, says to me? “Have you lost weight?”

Seriously? My weight is that important to you? That it’s the first thing you notice and feel the need to comment on? The first thing you can think of to say to me? My weight?

But whatever. It gets better.

For some reason L and I were not immediately socializing with everyone. So when we walk into the kitchen, what are L’s mom and K talking about? Weight loss.

Seriously?

…Seriously???

There are soooooo many things in the world to be talking about, and you’re talking about weight loss in front of me? No one even tried to change the subject, either. They just kept blabbing away about what has worked for this person or that person. Oh, and this worked for L’s mom, A. Because everything’s so fuckin easy peasy for A. Just do this and this and don’t do this and you’re good.

My mom tried to tell me to let it go. That it didn’t mean anything. Well, it fuckin meant something to me. It hurt. A lot. There’s so much more to people than their weight, but that’s all they care about. They don’t even know half the shit I go through in my head every day. How impossible it is to deny my super-hunger and cravings, especially on top of everything else I deal with.

And y’know what? I treat A’s son like fuckin gold. Because I want to and he deserves it. That should be all that anyone cares about.

 
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Posted by on December 27, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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One of the Many Reasons I Hate Myself

Because I was babysitting tonight and the preschooler asked if I was pregnant.

“No, sweetie.”

“Then why is your belly so big?”

It’s not the first time a young child has made note of my fatness. And it devistates me. But obviously not enough to make me change my habits. Today, I tried so hard not to eat because I had to save my appetite for dinner with L. But I was really craving something soft to chew. Like a cupcake, or a soft cookie, or a PBJ sandwich. I’m saving the remaining cupcakes for L and me to eat together, so I opted for a PBJ sandwich even though I was beyond not hungry and, as I said, had to save my appetite. That was how badly I needed that sensory sesation. Whatever it’s called.

I had tried to avoid it. But you can only pet the dog for so long until it gets boring or even the dog gets sick of it. Or both.

Now, don’t go complaining about bad parenting or anything about these kids. It’s not their fault. They don’t know. They’re used to seeing average-sized people. Not fatsos like me.

 
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Posted by on December 13, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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You Don’t Care About Our Health

I’m trying. I really am. I’m trying to read other people’s perspectives when it comes to weight. People saying that we need to encourage healthy lifestyles, etc. But all I’m seeing is prejudice and ignorance.

You don’t care about our health. You really don’t. I can see it. I can see it in your faces. I can see it in your words. In your lack of research. In everything that’s missing in your narratives. I don’t care if you’re a coach, a med student, or whatever. You don’t care. Not when you talk like that.

You talk about food and exercise. That’s it. You talk about women. That’s it. You say things like “you broke the X-ray table.” If you care about my health, why do you shame me by reminding me that I broke the X-ray table?

Why do you look at me like that?

If you care about my health, why don’t you do some research? Things that affect weight. I seriously thought it was common knowledge that there were a myriad of things outside of food and exercise that affected weight. Obviously, I was wrong. And I’m sorely disappointed in my society because of that.

No, I’m not going to tell you the other things that affect weight. Because you don’t care. All you care about is how my weight makes you uncomfortable. You mask your voiced discomfort with concern for my health. It’s a thin mask. I see right through it. Stop acting like you care about my health.

Let’s say for a minute that you do care about my health. Guess what? It’s none of your business. My health is between me and my doctor. It’s my and my doctor’s problem. Not yours. So fuck off and get over it.

My weight makes you uncomfortable. That’s all there is to it. Get over it.

 
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Posted by on December 3, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Let’s Talk About My Weight

I’ve struggled with my weight ever since I was, like, ten. So pretty much forever. OK, fourteen years. Same diff. Either way, it’s pretty much been all my life. Even when I wasn’t really overweight at all, I thought I was fat. And it wasn’t just because of media. Other girls around me were a lot skinnier than me, too. Still are. Always have been. I’ve always seen myself as overweight. Overweight in the least bit = fat.

Now that I’ve established that, I think I have a serious problem. I should bring this up with my counselor . . .

Anyway.

No, I don’t eat right. But I’m going to tell you right now, if I ate right, there’s a good chance I would still be overweight. I have this condition called Poly-Cystic Ovary Syndrome. Among other issues, it makes it 10x easier for me to gain weight, and 10x harder for me to lose. So I’ve kinda given up before I’ve begun. Why bother? It’s gonna be a shitton harder for me than for everyone else. And then it’ll pile back on.

And I know this is true. For two summers, I would bike five+ miles every single day and didn’t lose a single pound. People told me it was because I ate too much. But I didn’t eat anything more than I did during the rest of the year.

I don’t eat right. A big part of that is my Asperger’s making me a very picky eater. I don’t like a lot of healthy foods. They taste awful or have a nasty texture that I simply can’t stand. And when I do like something, I -really- like it. Like a lot. And I can’t stop liking it. I need more and more and more of it. Even when my stomach tells me to stop, I can’t. Because, as my counselor has explained, I don’t get enough sensational satisfaction outside of eating.

I hate exercise. Absolutely loathe it with a passion. That endorphine crap that’s supposed to happen? That’s bullshit. I never feel good exercising. I never feel better during or after. I feel hot, sweaty, exhausted, dirty, and otherwise like complete and utter shit. So, no, I don’t exercise despite the stupid gym membership I was talked into.

Society doesn’t help. They show skinny-ass bitches holding trays with giant-ass portions. Like, wtf? Our fat-filled food are giant-sized and our healthy foods are expensive. And we don’t have time, energy, money, or knowledge to make healthy meals. Yes, I read about how we simply don’t have the knowledge or time, these days, to make healthy meals. And I’d like to add in time and energy. Because I do have the time to make a healthy dinner and leftover lunch for myself, and even breakfast, after work. But, dear God, do you think I have the energy? Not after eight+ hours of retail. Especially now, around holiday time. Even if I could afford the healthy foods with my minimum wage I’m trying to pay my student loans off with.

But they want us girls to be skinny as shit. They want us to starve ourselves if we have to. Whatever we have to to make and/or keep ourselves size 0. Oh, you have hips? You’re fat, fuck you.

Now, pop out babies!

It just doesn’t work.

Do you struggle with your weight?

 
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Posted by on November 16, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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NaNoWriMo and Other Things

I’m so behind it’s laughable. It’s disgusting. I haven’t even reached 5000 words yet. My life is so crazy busy. During normal weeks, I hardly have any energy or brainpower to do anything after work. Now that the holidays are coming, I have even less (but yay monies). And then my mom has me editing a fanfiction writer that she’s a fan of. Which I don’t mind doing, but this is nanowrimo time. I need to write. And then I still haven’t gotten around to finishing critiquing my good friend Z’s piece, which I love, I just haven’t had time for it. Whereas she finished critiquing my piece in an hour. I feel so bad.

Then I’ve been sick. I’ve been coughing and coughing and coughing. Coughing so hard that I throw up. Ugh.

I have good news, though. I lost almost 20lbs! And not by doing too much. I’ve done the gym a little bit. But it’s gotten to the point where she’s been calling and calling. And I actually told her there was some drama at my house and I have no clothes to wear to the gym and have yet to do laundry. So, yeah. Lol. But, yay! Almost 20lbs!

My mom thinks a big part is L, my bf. I think she’s right. He tends to eat healthy, and I don’t wanna look like a pig around him, so I control myself as much as I can around him. Now he’s gonna read this and say, “Babe, you don’t have to control yourself around me.” 😛 But whatever.

Well, that’s pretty much it. I hope y’all have a good day. I already finished writing a fanfiction chapter, this blog post, and editing another fanfiction chapter. Not to mention the blog post from this morning when I couldn’t sleep! Lol. I feel productive!

 
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Posted by on November 13, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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My Boyfriend’s Mother Hates Me

My boyfriend’s mother hates me. And we’ve only been dating less than three months. They had a fight this morning. She started going off about me. Probably about my weight. And how I’m probably encouraging him to gain weight. ‘Cause that’s what all fat people do, right?

I’m sorry if my weight offends you, Mrs. A, but it’s really none of your business. Neither is your 28-year-old son’s weight. At least, not when it’s just a little extra tummy weight.

I’ve struggled with food all my life. It’s not as easy-peasy for me as it was for you. Everyone’s different. Yes, my antidepressants have something to do with my problems. But y’know what? Without those, I’d have killed myself by now. By accident. I’d rather be fat than dead by my own hand. I dunno, those are my priorities. Maybe yours aren’t the same.

I’ve shown her nothing but respect, despite what I think of her. And I’ll continue to show her that. I’m writing this so that I don’t strangle her the next time I see her and she tries to start something. Which she probably will.

 
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Posted by on September 12, 2014 in Depression

 

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