Sticky Beak
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The Skinny
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...life in small Northern towns, working for assholes, boys who refuse to become men, synthetic personalities, anorexic models and their link to emotional scarring, bad marijuana trips, crazies on BC Transit, beer, piece of shit cars, living out of a suitcase paycheck to paycheck, unrequited love, Seinfeld, minimum-wage jobs, broken New Year�s resolutions, and over-limit Visa accounts.
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It was a good winter... all 33 of them. This evening I hit a new all-time low, even for me. We're talking record-breaker here. I went shopping in a maternity store, and even tried things on. It's not even like I could lie and pretend I was shopping for someone else. How pathetic am I???? I'm obese and sick of seeing my reflection, so what do I do??? Rather than starting and sticking to a diet and exercise regimen like any sane person would do, I abandon lay-person clothing stores altogether and go to a maternity shop. I'm such a fraud. The sales person was so sweet and friendly, and her job because she gets to work with women experiencing 'the miracle' everyday, so was very excited to share with me and tell me all the things that make their clothing unique; extra thick material and longer in the front, spandex-cotton blends, yada yada yada. But what really did it for me? What made me feel like bursting into tears, confessing my facade and running out of the store like a mad woman? This would have to be when she took me to my changeroom and, indicating the small black pillow on the stool in the corner, told me that 'if I was ready' I could strap the pillow on to add 3 months to my pregnancy. My Pregnancy. Yup. That about did it. The worst part of it all, though, is that I tried on the clothes and the ones that did fit didn't make me look pregnant... I still just looked fat. Because that is, of course, the reality of it. There is no bambino brewing in my belly. So now, instead of just being a regular fat person, I'm a pathetic fat person who tries to pretend she's pregnant rather than just admitting that she's fat. That's it. It's gotta be time to turn over the new leaf and take control of the reins again. She says as she finishes off her Oreo McFlurry... I've been procrastinating and pretending that there's no need for it and basically just avoiding mirrors even more than usual, but I've been very aware of the urgency of the situation for a while now. Actually, since I went home back in April and - greeting me for the first time at the door - my dad exclaimed, "Well hey Hol! The winter's been good to you!" If that isn't enough to send any woman over the edge, I don't know what is. Of course my dad means no harm... he just doesn't have a filter for these kinds of comments, and has no comprehension of the delerious, obsessive, body-image neurosis that 98% of women suffer from. Or of the scars that run so deeply in me that they attach to the bone in some places. But it's not about my dad's comment or even how other people see me - although this is probably my biggest phobia in life... - it's about ME taking control of ME and bettering myself for ME. Although, let's be realistic.. it is about how other people see us because if it weren't, why would we care??? My fear of people's judgement is so tangible that I have pretty much stopped putting myself in situations where I will have to be surrounded by 'the beautiful people'. This is why I quit going out with Luba, and one reason why I'm perfectly happy living in Nelson... I am so terrified of being the fat girl (or worse... fattest girl in the room that I avoid the situation altogether. How sad is that? And I don't mean sad in a 'oh, poor girl' kind of way... I mean sad in a 'how fucking pathetic can you GET' way. Well. It is what it is. But the McFlurry's all gone now, and I'm going to muster up as much willpower as I possibly can to keep it gone, and to get my arse off the couch a little more often. In all reality and seriousness, I am a prime heart-attack candidate and could very well die in my 30's as a result of it. If that isn't a diet pill, what is????? |