The Alpha Blonde

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This article was written on 02 Dec 2013, and is filled under body image, Check In, health.

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Off with the clothes.

Okay, I lied.  No, it wasn’t a lie.  For a few days all was right with the world and I was comfortable in my own skin. I’d blogged recently about my pajamas and how I was okay with my body and not calorie counting.

Who was I kidding?

The only think I have ever known has been an unhealthy obsession with food.  Then ignoring it while declaring freedom! and overeating, and then going crazy-gung-ho-personal-trainer-strict-diet, encouraged by my friends because the shitty truth is that it’s only inspiring when you lose weight.  No one says that you’ve “inspired” them when you gain it.  Even if the weight gain comes from working really hard in a career you love or being content in a relationship and not having to suck it in for selfies all the time.  Especially when the gain comes from coping with depression in a way that allows you to go out and act normal because you’re choking out the little black clouds with carbs and cheese.  Yeah, I said it.  Cheese.  I’m riding the nacho train again because life is fucking hard and gruyere is fucking good.

Those are not laudable, though.  It’s hard to sell your happiness and success if the people who’ve known you for a few seasons notice you’re no longer wearing the cute and stylish outfits and only wearing the ones that mask things.  It’s even harder to sell it to yourself.

I don’t want to be a victim of the constant “BE THIN BE HAPPY” mantra, but, shit.  How else can I function?  I’ve been a harsh critic of my body for almost 20 years and I excel at it.  Look at my diary from May 1996-

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The page before this I talk about wanting to kill myself because my mom won’t buy me reduced fat foods.  This shit is part of who I am, I was 13 when this was written and I can’t say I don’t still have days where my inner monologue sounds like this.  The reality?  I wasn’t really that fat at 13- I was awkward and lumpy and had THE WORST triangular hair style but looking at the photos- not actually fat.

Right now, well.  Yeah.  I’m on my way to fat.  I’m more comfortable without clothes than with them.  I look terrible in everything I own because I don’t fit in any of it (except those XL PJ’s) and that carries through into my workday- how can I dress for success when I can barely dress? It haunts me at lunch- well, I should get the salad, but I’m already a hopeless wreck.  Onion rings it is.  It kills me in bed- “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  “You’re going blind.  I’m an undulating mass of gravy in a ziplock bag!”

Fucked up.  The worst part- and this is the part that is meant to remind myself of once I get into better shape and really the whole backbone of this blog- is that fit people don’t remember how hard it is to change.  Some of them may have never been there, but even when I was all in shape and roller skating my ass off I was really crappy to fat people.  In my mind I wondered how they couldn’t just get off their asses and go for a walk.  How hard it it to say no to a cheeseburger, really?

It’s hard.  If that’s you’re thing at least.  For me, peanut butter toast and hot chocolate are hard to say no to after I’ve exhausted my mind trying to figure out how to pay the car payment, PG&E and the lab bills from the doctor AND still have enough so that the kids have apples and yogurt to snack on.  Thinking of getting up and exercising is hard.  As you probably guessed from the last example, money is super tight and scarce and I have little left for clothes so if I’m wearing clothes that are a few sizes too small to work because I can’t justify the expense of a newer, bigger wardrobe, you know my workout ensembles are laughable.  I bought everything at a size 10 3 years ago when I was unemployed or underemployed and had time to go running the trails in clovis every day, lahhh-ti-dah.

And when you’re out of shape, you’re tired because you’re out of shape.  It only perpetuates the problem.

I know I’m gonna get in shape again because my husband is dragging my ass to the gym this week to get signed up.  It’ll be cheaper than replacing my clothing- most of which is vintage or handmade.  I’m afraid of the mania of calorie counting and the high-horse of posting every quarter of a pound I’ve lost on Facebook.  The other thing I forget when I’m in shape is that talking about being fat and weight loss- while some people tout your efforts as inspirational (they’re probably on their way to of from the gym as they type)- those things can be a slap in the flesh when all you can bring yourself to do is fall onto the couch at night and do a crossword puzzle.

I’m just hoping that I can find peace when it comes to balancing food and body image.  It’ll take time to undo a lifetime of negative thought.

Anyway, I should get back to my hot cocoa.  Here’s to peace of mind.

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