Since I was pretty young, I have been obsessed. It's not a unique obsession; its nothing glamorous or trendy. My obsession is the same as many women - the number that pops up when I step on the scale. For some reason, no matter how I may be feeling, one look at that number can ruin my entire outlook for the rest of the day. All of a sudden my clothes feel tight, my belly looks pudgy, and I think about how everyone will be able to see the three pound difference I just saw on the scale. As if people size me up when I walk by looking for any extra inches I have packed on. Sometimes I forgo the scale because I fear what it may say. I image the worse, and it manages to plague me all day until I break down and weigh when I get home. You know as well as I do, weighing after you have eaten all day is probably not the best idea. So, after I weigh, I try to take into consideration that I have eaten, had water, whatever I can think of to subtract pounds from what I just saw. Just typing it out makes me realize, even more than I already have, how silly the whole process is.
In actuality, that damned scale should be banned from my house. It is like a magnet that I am uncontrollably attracted to. I stand on it and pray that it will be kind. When it is, it's a good day. How have I come to allow it to rule my life? There are so many factors in this. For starters, my mother is as obsessed with it as I am, so you could say I learned from the best. But, to be realistic, there is a lot more to it than that. Let's start with the obvious "I was chubby as a kid" excuse. I wasn't fat, just thick. I had solid legs, chubby cheeks, and at that time I was somewhat tall. I didn't start to feel chubby until about 5th grade. A friend of mine had lost weight during the summer between fifth grade and sixth grade. She told me that a girl that lived by her said I looked like I had gained the weight she lost. Seriously? I was crushed , but brushed it off as if it didn't really bother me. I remember that feeling; my heart started beating fast ,and I felt the tears that wanted to come, fighting to stay back. I never liked to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Another incident was with another friend. We will call her twin number one. She spent the night at my house, and in the morning I offered to make breakfast. At that time I was pretty good at scrambled eggs with cheese (still am). I made four eggs because I didn't know how much she wanted. Later when we had a falling out (about two weeks later) a friend let me know that she had said I made way too much food, I must think she eats as much as me. For real? This was said before we even had it out, while she was still supposedly my friend. Visual: Self esteem + chisel and hammer = one sad girl. At this point, I knew that no matter what, I would be the fat friend. You think that is all - nope, I am just pointing out the most ridiculous of the experiences I had with cruel people. The mother of one of my friends, after learning that I had made the school cheer squad, informed my mom that I would never make it on the main land because I was too heavy. AN ADULT people, an adult said this.
These early experiences followed me through school. Even in high school when I was no where near fat, I still considered myself the "fat friend". I wore clothes that covered as much as possible, only venturing to where something tighter every once in a while. It was a comfort thing. If it was covered no one could really tell what size I was. For me to wear a skirt or dress on a normal day was almost unheard of. Thinking back, I should have gone ahead and worn the bikini back then!
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