BecauseĀOK, I'm cookie dough. I'm not done baking. I'm not finished becoming whoever the hell it is I'm gonna turn out to be. I make it through this, and the next thing, and the next thing, and maybe one day I turn around and realize I'm ready. I'm cookies. And then, you know, if I want someone to eat... Or enjoy warm, delicious cookie me, then...that's fine. That'll be then. When I'm done.
-- Buffy, "The Chosen" Season 7
A long time ago I was beautiful. Only I didn't know it then. I was beautiful in the most shallow way possible, on the outside. Looking back now I can't decide whether or not that makes me happy. Maybe if I knew then I wouldn't be such a mess now. Or maybe I'd be worse.
I don't know how I got it into my head that being beautiful was so important. Maybe Mama let me play with Barbie too much. Like most tall girls I was ashamed of the horrible awkwardness that being taller than everyone brought on. All the boys were shorter than me. I remember that being a really big thing.
I remember in kindergarten being acutely aware of another girl my height being thinner than me. When I look at those pictures, the ones of the whole class, I gasp. That little girl was a skeleton. I was a healthy little girl. I remember asking my Mama why I wasn't skinnier; "Like Laura"... I saw that look on her face. Worried.
I wasn't the thinnest, prettiest girl in my high school. But I remember someone writing in my yearbook one year that I should be a model. I also remember laughing. I know that somewhere I lost all my self-esteem. Dumped it out on the side of the road for someone else to pick up.
At age 16 I gave all my power up to men. Wow that sounds so over-therapized... It's true though. I did. When I met The Ex I handed over all my personal power along with my virginity. I gave him full authority to victimize me, to tear me down, to make me his bitch. Which makes him an asshole for taking advantage of my enormous beating heart, and me a moron for leaving it out there alone and unattended.
He told me once, after I gained the first fifteen pounds after I had mono (when I lost so much weight I looked unhealthy) that I had "Let myself go"... Even though he'd done all sorts of terrible things to me by then, pushed me around, perverted my trust in so many ways I couldn't see straight, it destroyed me more than anything else he could have said. On my normally size 10 frame I was in a size 12. He told me I was fat. Fat? I'm six feet tall.
Now I'm overweight. I can admit that. On my more objective days I know I'm still pretty hot stuff. But inside, inside this is the worst thing that could have ever happened. The worst thing now, is I know that the same reason I feel this way about my body is the same reason I feel bad about everything else about myself... I've let the things other people say define me.
I mean even right now, as I type this I'm thinking "Oh what if they think I'm a bitch for saying I know I'm attractive." See, that's fucked up. This is my goddamn journal, it's not like anybody's forcing you to read it, and if you want to tell me what a bitch I am you know where the comments box is. And I'm typing this all out right now because this is one of my last drawers in my chest of Messed Up Shit. It might be a shallow one. It's certainly the one I'm most ashamed of. I'm shallow. I care that I've gained all sorts of weight, and I'm here to admit it to you, and to myself: I'M FUCKING TIRED OF IT. On the shallowest level I'm tired of feeling fat.
On a deeper level what I'm really tired of is not being in control of my own feelings. I'm tired of letting myself sway in the wind of other people's opinions. It sucks, royally. The other day when D and I were driving back from New Mexico we were talking about something, I can't remember exactly what, but it was about how I couldn't say how I felt to somebody because I thought it would make them think badly about me. He looks at me, with this look of minor disgust on his face at my weakness, and says; "Y'know, you care way too much about what other people think about you. You let their feelings influence you too much." First I recognized it as truth. Then I snorted out an ironic laugh. "What?" he said. "Well you've never complained about how well that works out for you, funny that you should criticize me for it now." Yeah, he didn't have much to say back.
I'm tired of being worried that nobody's going to ever love me because I've gained weight, or because I'm bipolar. I'm tired of worrying that people don't like me, and that I'll never have more friends. I'm sick to death of trying to make myself fit into some little mold that I think other people want me to be. I can't be the perfect friend, girlfriend and daughter. I can only be me. I don't even know who I want me to be yet. I'm behind in that department.
I wonder now how to get there. I wonder if I should even have a boyfriend. It seems to complicate things a lot. I care so much about what he thinks. He used to be my best friend, that seems to make things worse. I want him to look at me and think; "That's what I want." I don't feel like that now. I think that's more because I look at myself, and I know this isn't what I want. I don't want to be stuck here forever. I have my feet stuck in peanut butter, it's slow going.
-- Buffy, "The Chosen" Season 7
A long time ago I was beautiful. Only I didn't know it then. I was beautiful in the most shallow way possible, on the outside. Looking back now I can't decide whether or not that makes me happy. Maybe if I knew then I wouldn't be such a mess now. Or maybe I'd be worse.
I don't know how I got it into my head that being beautiful was so important. Maybe Mama let me play with Barbie too much. Like most tall girls I was ashamed of the horrible awkwardness that being taller than everyone brought on. All the boys were shorter than me. I remember that being a really big thing.
I remember in kindergarten being acutely aware of another girl my height being thinner than me. When I look at those pictures, the ones of the whole class, I gasp. That little girl was a skeleton. I was a healthy little girl. I remember asking my Mama why I wasn't skinnier; "Like Laura"... I saw that look on her face. Worried.
I wasn't the thinnest, prettiest girl in my high school. But I remember someone writing in my yearbook one year that I should be a model. I also remember laughing. I know that somewhere I lost all my self-esteem. Dumped it out on the side of the road for someone else to pick up.
At age 16 I gave all my power up to men. Wow that sounds so over-therapized... It's true though. I did. When I met The Ex I handed over all my personal power along with my virginity. I gave him full authority to victimize me, to tear me down, to make me his bitch. Which makes him an asshole for taking advantage of my enormous beating heart, and me a moron for leaving it out there alone and unattended.
He told me once, after I gained the first fifteen pounds after I had mono (when I lost so much weight I looked unhealthy) that I had "Let myself go"... Even though he'd done all sorts of terrible things to me by then, pushed me around, perverted my trust in so many ways I couldn't see straight, it destroyed me more than anything else he could have said. On my normally size 10 frame I was in a size 12. He told me I was fat. Fat? I'm six feet tall.
Now I'm overweight. I can admit that. On my more objective days I know I'm still pretty hot stuff. But inside, inside this is the worst thing that could have ever happened. The worst thing now, is I know that the same reason I feel this way about my body is the same reason I feel bad about everything else about myself... I've let the things other people say define me.
I mean even right now, as I type this I'm thinking "Oh what if they think I'm a bitch for saying I know I'm attractive." See, that's fucked up. This is my goddamn journal, it's not like anybody's forcing you to read it, and if you want to tell me what a bitch I am you know where the comments box is. And I'm typing this all out right now because this is one of my last drawers in my chest of Messed Up Shit. It might be a shallow one. It's certainly the one I'm most ashamed of. I'm shallow. I care that I've gained all sorts of weight, and I'm here to admit it to you, and to myself: I'M FUCKING TIRED OF IT. On the shallowest level I'm tired of feeling fat.
On a deeper level what I'm really tired of is not being in control of my own feelings. I'm tired of letting myself sway in the wind of other people's opinions. It sucks, royally. The other day when D and I were driving back from New Mexico we were talking about something, I can't remember exactly what, but it was about how I couldn't say how I felt to somebody because I thought it would make them think badly about me. He looks at me, with this look of minor disgust on his face at my weakness, and says; "Y'know, you care way too much about what other people think about you. You let their feelings influence you too much." First I recognized it as truth. Then I snorted out an ironic laugh. "What?" he said. "Well you've never complained about how well that works out for you, funny that you should criticize me for it now." Yeah, he didn't have much to say back.
I'm tired of being worried that nobody's going to ever love me because I've gained weight, or because I'm bipolar. I'm tired of worrying that people don't like me, and that I'll never have more friends. I'm sick to death of trying to make myself fit into some little mold that I think other people want me to be. I can't be the perfect friend, girlfriend and daughter. I can only be me. I don't even know who I want me to be yet. I'm behind in that department.
I wonder now how to get there. I wonder if I should even have a boyfriend. It seems to complicate things a lot. I care so much about what he thinks. He used to be my best friend, that seems to make things worse. I want him to look at me and think; "That's what I want." I don't feel like that now. I think that's more because I look at myself, and I know this isn't what I want. I don't want to be stuck here forever. I have my feet stuck in peanut butter, it's slow going.
5 Comments:
Etoile I'm not being rude but
you are thinking too much again!
You are still pretty young (and pretty) so live a little and
enjoy your life.
Im with Rainex - I bet you can find 20 other comments on your blog where Ive said the same thing. There seems to be no happiness in your life girl. Pack up and go travelling, exploring the world outside yours will be the best thing you ever do.
Etoile I can understand your feelings about weight gain. I look at my pictures when I was in high school, I thought I was fat. I soo was not fat, I am now, but not then. And now the way I feel about my body affects how I feel about myself. I don't open up to people much either. And it does make me feel insecure in the sex department if you know what I mean. I can't feel sexy with my gut jiggling, but I'm working on it. I too care too much what others think and my husband sometimes says the same to me as D said to you. It's ok, others out here feel the same way, just know you are worth it and with time it will all work out. I think it has something to do with our age as well, I've noticed everyone seems to go through something like this, I wanted to know to make sure nothing was wrong with me.
You'll always look back on photos and realise you weren't fat during a time when you thought you were. At 20 I thought I was fat, at 32 I look back at stats and see I weighed 115lbs at 20 - hardly fat eh? Now I weigh 130lbs and im still not fat, infact I like my body better than I did at 20.
What is the perfect body anyway?
LOL - I wouldn't touch it with yours Ste! I look at him and think 'beef'
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