Trust me I know I’m fluffy

Being overweight my entire life has provided me with a different outlook than some of my other friends. I’ve had sentences said to me over the years that quite frankly suck. I’ve had assumptions made about me over the years that are the furthest thing from the actual truth. A while back I noticed a good friend of mine online posting her progress with walking so I started walking. I told myself to do at least 10,000 steps everyday humanly possible after work. I stuck with this for a while and my goal is to get back to that eventually.  I want the weight off is all I know.  I don’t have to be a size 0, but I would like to be at least a size twelve.  I’ve always said that if that size is good enough for Marilyn Monroe it is good enough for me.  Now for my height, I don’t know how good it will look on me but still.

I bring all this up because I have been beyond hard on myself lately.  My anxiety has been an asshole and likes to remind me that I cannot do this.  It also is telling me I’m fat.  Like not a little fat, but obese.  And the truth is according to charts that is how I’m listed.  Not overweight, but obese.  As I stated recently, trust me when I say that all people who have more junk in their trunk know this.  It’s not some revelation to hear it from someone else, whispered or not.  I hear a lot of the following:  You can’t eat well.  You just ate that piece of cake and that’s not healthy. You didn’t start the day before so why start in the middle of the week. You don’t have an attainable goal.  You are always going to be fat.  Go ahead and eat out, it won’t hurt you. Those are all the things my anxiety have told me over the years and recently.

There are times I completely regress and gain back some of that weight I’ve loss so I have to lose it again. This is sometimes due to lack of funds and sometimes lack of time. Sometimes my only choice for dinner is ramen noodles. I know they’re bad for me, but I shove them into my mouth anyway because that’s all I can afford.  This only changes on a week I pay off something or my dad is generous and tells me to get what I want at the store.  I literally wouldn’t even buy those balanced cheese snacks because they were too expensive okay!  I just would not do it.  They are way better snacks though than say a fruit snack or a small Slim Jim.  Though I openly admit sometimes there is nothing better than a good Slim Jim and I want to pretend I’m the Macho Man when eating said snack.  The truth is sometimes we make bad choices because we cannot afford to make the better ones.

Even still, this is what I know.  I do not eat as bad as people probably assume I eat.  I say this because while I cannot remember the boy’s name I once was approached in middle school and asked how many Twinkies I ate a day.  First of all, I do not like Twinkies.  I think they are foul little snack cakes that I will never understand.  The only reason I was sad when they decided not to produce them for that short period of time was because of how happy Tallahassee was in Zombieland upon finally getting his Twinkie.  That’s it. Do I like snack cakes every once in a while?  Sure.  Those cupcakes with the swirl on the top and the cream in the middle are amazing, but I cannot tell you the last time I ate one of those or an oatmeal creme pie.  Actually, I’d probably venture to say the latter was eaten before I left my last job because they were sold across the hall.  Either way I try not to buy stuff like that and keep it in the house.

Likewise, I have been shamed for foods I actually eat too.  I used to hate going to buffets because I’ve heard remarks when I walked through the door.  I literally heard a guy say one time, “Better go and get some food now because she’s about to eat it all.”  Yes, because it is completely possible for me to go all Kirby like at buffets.  I just open my mouth and all the food is inhaled.  I do that at least three times so I’m full and then I leave.  Gotta get my money worth.  The sad part is outside of the Mexican buffet I go to from time to time I typically will get a salad and veggies at most buffets I go to.  I even get a salad at Stevie B’s too before indulging in pizza.  I have also been asked before “Are you just going to sit on the couch for the rest of your life and eat?” or told “You know if you keep eating those you’re not going to fit into that.”  I heard that about my prom dress more than I care to admit. I remember in these cases I refused to eat anymore fries and slammed down one those flimsy sugar cookies with the frosting and sprinkles on them to the ground.  I cried to my dog Prince afterward both times.

Due to these moments, I find myself feeling guilty for eating until I’m full at times.  I even feel bad if I’m eating a lot of celery and hummus at times.  Snacks that are good for me because I cannot help but think I’ve eaten too much all the same.  I shouldn’t have been able to eat all those celery sticks or the hummus.  And the fact it was two foods is a big no no somehow.  The truth is I’m tired of feeling guilty.  I’m tired of looking in the bakery section and feeling like I’m going to be judged for getting a piece of cake, turnovers, and flan even though I’m not going to eat all of them in the same day.  I’m just tired.  I’m tired of looking at my face and thinking, “My God you look fat.” I’m tired of the word fat.  I hate the power it has over me.  Most of all though, I hate that so many people use fat as an insult.  It’s my f-word and why I refuse to say that particular word on most days and will deem myself fluffy instead.  Thank you Gabriel Iglesias.

Ultimately, I know deep down I am probably not as healthy as others in this world.  I know that I want to do something about it, but my depression of late has made that harder than I care to admit.  I know I need to get up to a point where I’m doing more than walking five minutes a day.  I do not need anyone else to tell me these things.  I don’t need someone to tell me that my body would look better in certain outfits.  I do not need to be made feel that it is not okay for me to wear tank tops in the summer.  It’s hot and it has taken me years to get to a point where I’m not looking at my arms and thinking “UGH!”  The reason I write this is because all of this is a challenge I rarely speak of to most people.  The other reason I write this is to remind people that no one needs to be fat shamed.  Trust me when I tell you that most of us probably already do that enough for you.  We know we are fluffy.  Your words are not going to magically change that.

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