I have received feedback from some very good people telling me I am being too hard on myself in these essays. I appreciate this but I feel I need to explain something to all of you.
Bringing these flaws out into the open is making me feel better.
I know some of this is making you guys uncomfortable and I apologize for that discomfort. However I am not apologizing for writing these and putting them out there. I need to keep pushing forward and airing out the basement, I have to keep opening the doors and letting light shine into the obsidian corners of my heart and mind. I was feeling myself regressing to a secretive and closed off stance. I felt paranoia and depression biting at the edges of my disposition and attitude.
I was NOT letting myself become that asshole again.
I have worked too fucking hard in the last 20 months to ever end up that person again. He was weak, scared, petty, miserable, and convinced he was one of the most mediocre pathetic people in the world.
THAT IS NOT ME!
Okay, I hope that helps put these essays in a context. If not email me, if you are truly concerned and I would be happy to discuss this with you. Everyone has issues and it’s up to them to choose whether they want to share them or not. I choose to share, I have to share, and if I don’t share I will hold everything in and eventually become an emotional black hole. My mother in particular has been worried I am over sharing and it will come back to bite me in the ass. I know she worries because she loves me, but this is what I need to do. I believe it I put it all out there it is much harder for it to bite me in the ass.
Alright enough of this, on to today’s topic.
Today I want to talk about my being fat. Yes I know I have written on the subject before, and I promise I will be writing about it in the future as well, but today we are going to speak of one facet of my weight, specifically my EATING problem.
So buckle up buttercup, it’s about to get sloppy up in here!
I want to paraphrase, as opposed to just flay ripping off, something Stephen King wrote in “On Writing” (Awesome book if you are a writer fucking read it already). When I am in a restaurant and I see somebody push away a plate of half eaten food I want to scream. I want to march over to them, smack them a few times, shake them until they pee themselves, and scream in their face “FUCKING FINISH THAT! EAT YOU STUPID FUCK!” then walk away.
But I don’t do that.
Because prison rape.
I eat when I am happy. I eat when I am sad. I eat when I am angry. I eat when I am bored. What can I say I like to eat, sue me it’s not like I am the only one or even in the minority. Us fatties, we are legion.
I was born a pudgy baby with a shock of nearly black hair. I was also yellow skinned due to jaundice which lead to my paternal grandmother asking my mom who the father was at the hospital. I miss that woman. I am still convinced I received a large percentage of my sense of humor from her.
I may have been born fat, I can blame god for that one, but I made sure I stayed fat. Well to be fair my mom fed me and she let me eat what I wanted add that with the rest of family equating food with love and the deck was stacked against me.
IN THE BEGININNG!
All of the weight I’ve gained and kept on my frame since the age of 12 is 100% my fault. You will never hear me, unless it’s in jest, blame anyone else for my weight and voluptuous physique.
My shame is binge eating.
I know that it’s not uncommon for people with eating disorders to binge eat but to a person doing it you feel like the lowest of the low. You feel like a subhuman piece of shit and the attitudes of a great man people I this world toward the fat people only makes it worse.
At least I’m not female. Women have it a thousand times harder (in general) when it comes to their weight than men ever do.
For a long time my favorite thing to do was go down to the kitchen at about two in the morning and gorge. I ate everything and anything. Left over’s, snacks, sandwiches, and as many bowls of super sugary cereal were all fuel for the furnace. Each bit brought me an intense rush of joy followed a self loathing I can’t describe to someone who hasn’t been there.
For a very long time it was drive thru fast food. Anytime I was alone in the car I would swing through a burger joint and load up on salty, fatty, greasy, unhealthy, and delicious food. I would eat so much if it that I would have massive diarrhea for the rest of the day, my stomach would cramp, and the gas released by my body would have killed house plants.
Add to all of that the times I take food I know is not mine, at home and work, and I think you can see where my humiliation lies. If I am hungry it doesn’t matter who the food belongs too I’ll eat it anyway … that makes me a thief on top of everything else.
You have to eat to live, there is no choice in the matter.
Most times I fell I live to eat.
I don’t know what to do. I have managed to cut back on the amounts I eat and I have dramatically reduced the incidents of bingeing. I’ve also managed to avoid taking food that doesn’t belong to me lately. But I know all of it will happen again and I know I will hate myself after.
I am weak and I am ashamed.
I feel alone.
Okay enough, these are really taking it out of me. They are helping me a lot but I feel hollowed out after I am finished. When I post these I feel naked and exposed, I feel vulnerable in a way I haven’t since I was 7. It’s not a bad thing but it is terrifying.
Alright next time we talk about my relationship with my family … yeah not looking forward to this one, and when they hear about it they won’t be either I’m sure.
Hope nobody threatens me with a lawsuit this time.