[ 04-15-03 ] [ 2:05 p.m.]
[ Weight - Everybody's obsession ]

I have decided that I'm sick of being fat and being called fat.

My mother especially likes to remind me that I'm not a size two, blonde, and beautiful. And while I'm not so huge that it takes margarine to get me through the door, she does have a point when she says that I need to drop some puppy fat.

At last count, I was a size 13, 162 pounds, 5'6". Not model material, but definitely nothing that I haven't been able to deal with. I don't even look as chubby as I am, because I'm not given to wear tight-fitting clothes. In fact, most of the shirts I own are mens' larges that hide a lot of that extra skin.

I'm chubby, yes. I admit that. But I'm not fat!

Maybe it's because I used to be super-thin that it's hard for me to grasp the fact that I'm a little on the heavy side nowadays. When I was about to go into the ninth grade, I had to have major back surgery to repair the scoliosis that was making my spine look like the S-bend of our kitchen plumbing. Needless to say, the surgery took a lot out of me, including my ability to eat properly for a while. So I lost a lot of weight. From being a size 14 nearing 170 pounds with only 5'3" for height, I went down to a size six with a flat tummy and an extra two inches of height.

It didn't last.

Because of the surgery, I couldn't be out playing sports or being active because it put tension on my back. I just had the full restrictions on my activities removed in February.

By then, it was too late. I was already getting back to that place called "overweight."

And now, with summer nearing and the warm weather coming (by the way, it's 87 degrees today!!), I'm probably going to end up doing what I did last summer - sit on my dead ass and get fatter.

I have to stop.

In eighth grade, when I was at the epitome of my heaviness, I decided I was going to get outside and be active, and drop some pounds. But when I found out that I was going to have to go through surgery, I kind of ignored that pledge.

Just recently, I made a promise to myself that, if nothing else, I was going to get outside every day and walk around my dad's 12-acre land for a little activity. Either that, or take 20 minutes on my mom's treadmill. I've kept it up pretty well so far. The first thing I did today when I woke up (at 11) was take my dogs for a walk.

But, you know, I really don't trust myself.

A part of me still wishes I could go to sleep one day and wake up a little later and be skinny and pretty, kind of like what happened to me in the summer before ninth grade. Never mind that when I went to sleep, it was because of anasthesia, and when I woke up, I was puking and retching and in a LOT of pain.

I remember being in the hospital and looking in the mirror for the first time after my surgery. I was shocked at how pale I looked, how tall I looked, how thin I looked. I thought I was just delusional and when I shyed away from my then-dependence on Vikadin, I would see that I was still really fat.

Well, I wasn't. I was thin. Pretty. And, for the first time in my life, I was the object of boys' affections. Not just one, but quite a few, my first high school boyfriend, Matt, included. I was popular. I was one of those girls who everybody wanted to be friends with. I liked high school so much better than middle school.

Someday, I think I'll scan my eighth grade and ninth grade school pictures and post them here. And then you'll see WHY I liked high school so much better. The difference between the two pictures is astounding. I don't even look like the same person.

And, granted, right now, I'm a lot prettier than I was in eighth grade. I was homely in eighth grade. Today, I'm me.

Even if "me" is 162 pounds, 5'6", and a size 13.

But you know, weight is one of those things that isn't set in stone. So if I really put my mind to it, I can do some subtracting.

And that would be really good for my self-esteem.

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