Monthly Archives: September 2007

On Body Image Bull Shit

I don’t talk about it because I don’t want to be a stereotypical girl with a body image issue.  And it’s a sensitive topic to the girls who do have body image issues, so I try and avoid it altogether.  But people project, and that’s where I’m drawing the line.

I could eat the same thing every day for the rest of my life and care less.  It’s not that I don’t like food, I just have no appreciation for it.  There are things I like – good cupcakes, french macaroons, figs, hummus – but please don’t go on and on about how I must try this b/c I will simply die it is so good.  Food does not excite me.  Okay, hummus and figs do, just a little.

And so someone at work noticed I lost some weight and asked if I was eating.  I said something along the line of ‘yeah, I haven’t worked out in a while and I think I lost a lot of muscle.’  And what did he do?  He rolled his eyes and said ‘yeah, okay’ and walked away.  That annoyed me.  That so annoyed me.  And it’s not just at work.  I avoid telling doctors about my dietary oddities because they think I am just a girl trying to keep thin.  No meat, no cheese, no substantial source of dairy has already resulted in several doctors looking me up and down and then asking ‘why?’  And I don’t think I could ever have an answer that’s good enough because all they see is a 20-something girl that’s prime demographic for an eating disorder.  I hate falling into stereotypes.

I used to run about 4 times a week prior to starting classes in July and since then I haven’t done jack.  Not even a single squat or lunge aside from the pathetic run I did this past weekend to try and break this cycle.  I’ve watched my body go from pretty firm to fairly squishy.  I also avoid cheese and creamy dairy products (why? b/c there’s puss and blood in the milk.  It’s true, although I’ll save it for a different time.)  And I feel like my body deflated on me.  Ex-boy can back me up on this, he watched it too.  And guess what – he also watched me eat. 

So I eat pretty much the same food every day for every meal unless the creature of routine in me begs for something else, but that isn’t often.  And I don’t care what you think.  But don’t go concocting excuses to justify my lack of interest in food.  Because if you do, I will do to you what I am doing to the guy in the office – spread a rumor that he kills baby pigs and drains their blood to put in his morning sausage. 

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because i don’t know how else to do it

It did happen fast at the end but I go back to the beginning, 6 years ago, and only now do I realize how fast it happened there, too.  I do think about things and I don’t know why it happened like it did and why I can react how I am.  And then I think about that one god-awful fight we had where I yelled and swung and you got mad right back but what the anger was covering was how hurt I was and you didn’t see it.  Because you didn’t tell me what I needed to hear, so I didn’t believe you and I questioned your commitment to the idea of us from that day forward.  I don’t think I’m the bad one here, but I’m not convinced of it either.  Since my birthday you started to look at me, stare at me.  I’d watch TV and look over and you’d be staring.  Doing homework, I felt you staring.  I’d be driving, and you’d stare.  And I felt like in that stare you wanted to tell me something but there was also this feeling of me never being enough for you.  I wasn’t a good girlfriend at the end, but you still challenged me.  You talked me into doing things I never thought I could do and sometimes I think that without you around I still won’t be able to do them.  I do miss you but not the you as of late.  I think I have told you “Fuck You” three times now.  Just like I don’t like people telling me I should read something, I don’t like you telling me about my mistakes.  They are my mistakes to make.  I’m not making huge decisions based on one thing.  I made those huge decisions for you already.  And I don’t regret any of them.  I feel bad, but I’m not sorry.  I feel terrible, but I can’t be sorry.  B/c if I say I’m sorry it means that I acknowledge it wasn’t time for us to end and I think it was.  I hate the way it happened and I feel awful having perhaps told you too much, but I spent a lot of energy trying to keep you from being hurt.  And it only seems to result in you getting hurt more.  I don’t mean to do that, so I’m going to post the pictures now and include him in my blog b/c he’s there and you know it so why should I hide it. 

I’m going to expose you now.  Because for so long I wanted you to put yourself out there b/c I believed in you and you never listened to me.  So now I’m going show everyone.  And now you’re going to get pissed and take it all down, but you shouldn’t.  I agree with most of the stuff you say, I just don’t have answers for you.  I wish I had answers for the both of us.  And I won’t ever tell you fuck you again.  But please respect what you see to be my mistakes and know that I could never hate a person I became so intimate with.  I don’t think I could not love that person.  And I cried b/c you remembered pouparts. 

Part of me is still hurt that those that I knew would step in are.  People of Paper’s Number One Friend…  has been waiting in the wings for a long time.

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smiles in odd places

like going on a jog for the first time in months and being really terrified that I’ve lost every ounce of muscle and will trip and fall and not be able to get up.

and then seeing a gaggle of wild turkeys cross the path in front of me.  literally 3 feet in front of me.  yeah, I was a little scared of them, so I kind of circled around.  but c’mon, wild turkeys!  i love wild turkeys!

i bet there aren’t wild turkeys in the ‘burbs of Boston.

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The cure to verbal constipation


Things I like:

-sandwiches, preferably with hummus

-figs, lots and lots of figs

-thumbing through old photos

-reading cards and letters from people I love

-patio plants

-rolling out cookie dough

-making lists

-getting an A- in calculus

-that time I got into a car accident and Katherine jumped out of the shower with shampoo still in her hair and stepped into emergency damage control by baking the most disgusting dense and slightly soggy egg cake that somehow ended up having spaghetti noodles in it.  we ate it anyway.

-making those Halloween cookies.  yes, those Halloween cookies. and the poached pears.  and the best tofu, spinach, tomato, hummus, bell pepper salad.  and those way-back-when grilling fish on the porch days.

-frisbee.  it might not be so bad.

So, that’s a start.

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Frustrated verbal constipation

Suddenly I have a new set of armor that’s preventing me from saying too much of anything about how I feel.  Because what I want in life doesn’t get clearer with age.  But the ability to talk about it freely is getting trapped behind my new, thicker skin.

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That growing up thing…

There are certain events in life that make me feel like home as I remember it is long gone.  Having changed apartments nearly every year since college, I don’t quite feel grounded anywhere yet.  So when I think of home, I still think of that green shag carpet and the yellow and avocado striped walls of the house I grew up in down in Louisiana.  I remember emptying my room before leaving for college, and I tried to replace everything I took with a filler item – for every picture I took with me, I put up one that didn’t mean anything to me, every memento was replaced with a tchotchke.  That way it didn’t feel so empty when I returned – and those were some of my best efforts to ease the impact of change. 

The first time I felt like home was a distant thing in the past was when I got sick for the first time in college and my mom could only do so much by phone.  And my professors had no pity.  And I had a roommate who still insisted on smacking on cheeze-its before class at 7 AM.  That was the first dose of home-sickness – knowing that even if home were within reach, nothing would be the same because I already left.

The latest blow is my childhood pet, Phoenix, my cat since the age of 9, has to be put down on Saturday.  For the past 3 yrs when my mom calls and has a certain tone in her voice, the first thing I would ask was “is it Phoenix?”  And so this came as no surprise.  What did come as a surprise is the incredible home-sick feeling that I got when I hung up the phone with my mom.  I want to go home so bad because I’m scared the next time I go home there will be no walking through the door and calling out to see where Phoenix is hiding.  And that won’t feel like home.  It’s like trying to chase what’s in the past before it changes, and then realizing that it’s already too late.

It’s just part of growing up.

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