Or maybe
(Disclaimer: the following entry is an angst-filled, depressed mess, so if you don't want to hear another girl complain about her weight then please stop reading, because I know how ridiculous this may sound and the last thing I really want right now is a bunch of people commenting or emailing trying to tell me it's not true, because you know I won't believe a single word of it. Honestly, this isn't a cry for compliments or consolation, it's just me venting a little bit of frustration at the current circumstances, and I'd rather not deal with people trying to talk me down or anything. Don't even bother commenting on this, actually, because it can only lead to awkwardness. Thanks.)
it's not that the real me is overly sentimental, it's just that I'm much more prone to depression when I'm home. Only two days back and already all the emotions associated with home that I'd forgotten have caught up with me. The frustration at the fact that nothing ever gets done (so many things to do and so much time wasted), the drama with my sisters, the presence of my sisters that drives me into an emotional hole...let me explain:
I have always been amazed at the fact that within minutes of stepping off of a plane in California I could feel twenty pounds heavier and ten times homelier than I did when I got on in New Hampshire. I don't know if it's just a matter of their respective populations (and I have a feeling it is), but it's happened every time, and it kicked in today. Why is it that I can look at myself alone in the mirror and see a me who is just slightly heavier than she'd like to be, and be okay with that, but then I see myself beside my sisters and suddenly transform into some massive bespectacled white whale with a double chin and a dumpy wardrobe? Milky white skin can in fact be attractive on a girl, and it is a lot softer than tan (=damaged) skin, but unless you're willowy you don't look Snow White beautiful, you just look like a big marshmallow. In Japan it was the same thing as it was at the map painting today--I left the house feeling fine about myself, but then I saw the pictures and almost cried. It just feels so unfair, that no matter what I do I'm just fighting a losing battle that started in high school. If you were to draw a graph of my weight over the past four years you'd see a sort of sine curve where the entire graph is gradually shifting upwards. Even when I was exercising every single day at the beginning of sophomore year my weight only evened out at about ten pounds heavier than my lowest weight a year and a half prior (when I was pure muscle) and I even started to gain it back (and it wasn't muscle) living on the healthiest diet I could imagine. It feels like no matter what I do it only gets worse, and I don't even have the advantage of losing my appetite when it gets hot out or forgetting to eat when I'm stressed or busy. Unfortunately, I tend to eat constantly, and when things get rough I just eat more to take my mind off of less happy things. Then there are the people who think they're doing me a favor to lift my spirits by feeding me things I like, which I appreciate (even though sometimes, like in Japan, it felt more like they were saying, "Oh, look, she looks so cute and happy when she eats, let's feed her more since obviously by the looks of her it's what she likes to do" as if I were some sort of sideshow attraction), and for a moment I feel good because I'm not letting myself be governed by diets or calories or any of those superficial monsters that have possessed so many of America's females, and I feel like I'm accepted the way I am. But then I see another picture of myself and watch another TV show where there will never ever be a protagonist who is not supposed to be goofy who isn't either waifish or ripped or another magazine cover stained by the drool of dozens of men featuring another of America's Favorite Skinny Minis (and it's so depressing when people who actually looked average, like Kelly Clarkson, go all anorexic on you because their publicist said it would be better for their image--or let's just hope it was their publicist and not them deciding they needed to look like a stick figure, because that would be sad, even though that's sort of what I'm sort of saying), and feel like people here must look at me next to people like my sisters (lean, tan, white teeth, sun-bleached hair, glasses-free, comfortable wearing a tank top and shorts or even a bikini top in public) and laugh. Really, no matter how "okay" people may think I am, here there's simply no comparison. Maybe if every person I met on the street had a chance to have a conversation with me, they'd be able to look past the exterior and decide I was a worthy human being, but in the land of sun-kissed beach babes, I'm just some pale chubby goofball who doesn't stand a chance. I'm not talking about matters of the opposite sex, either. Just first impressions in general. I can see it in their eyes when they look at me. It's half unfortunate circumstance and half sort of motivation, too. When the average middle school girl is anorexic, you're just bound to get a lot of really skinny people around. Yeah, yeah, you may say that's not what matters, but here when you're scanning a crowd it really does. It should technically be motivating me to work out and eat better, but when I see pictures like this I feel like I can do nothing but sit down and cry. (Note: This image is only going to be up for probably 12 hours, a day, max, so if you missed it I'm sorry. I really don't want it being publicized for any longer than is absolutely necessary. It's incredibly embarrassing and depressing, really. It may not look that bad, but if you could see it bigger and see the rest of the pictures on that roll, you'd see it. Plus, being me looking at myself, of course I can pick out every single flaw in less than two seconds.)
When I get in moods like this, all I want to hear is "yes, here is the magic solution to your problems," so when my parents say, "well, if you want to lose weight you should start keeping a food journal, and if you go on a run every day and go to the gym four or five times a week and keep your calorie intake below 1800 or so and then you should be able to lose a pound or two a week" it just make s me want to (don't be scared I'm not going to hurt myself) cut little holes in my abdomen and thighs and squeeze out the excess fat--it seems like it would be so easy if I could just get past the pain and stop the bleeding, right? Sorry, that was a little gross, but that's seriously the thought that always crosses my mind. I know that the only way there is the hard way, but the thing is I've gone down that road so many times and it's never worked like it was supposed to. The only time it's ever worked was when I was spending six days a week, five hours a day doing some of the hardest physical activity I've ever done, and only after three and a half years of practicing like that did I finally get a metabolism boost and fall into good physical shape. Looking at that, I don't think I'll ever have the time, self-discipline, or energy to devote to that kind of exercise regimen, so I'm stuck thinking I'm going to be like this forever with nothing to do about it. The best I can hope for is to cut out most of the things I like and be at the high end of an acceptable weight (according to the health experts of america). I could "accept my body the way it naturally is" except I know I can never be happy like this, even with all the positive reinforcement in the world, if I'm going to have to constantly compare myself to people like my sisters. And that thought just makes me want to eat more.
Well, my dad's making me go into the office with him early to do some stuff, so I have to go to bed early and once again forgo writing the end of my road trip story. I should be in a better mood to do it, anyway, so perhaps it's for the best. I can't have my story tainted by tonight's cynicism.
it's not that the real me is overly sentimental, it's just that I'm much more prone to depression when I'm home. Only two days back and already all the emotions associated with home that I'd forgotten have caught up with me. The frustration at the fact that nothing ever gets done (so many things to do and so much time wasted), the drama with my sisters, the presence of my sisters that drives me into an emotional hole...let me explain:
I have always been amazed at the fact that within minutes of stepping off of a plane in California I could feel twenty pounds heavier and ten times homelier than I did when I got on in New Hampshire. I don't know if it's just a matter of their respective populations (and I have a feeling it is), but it's happened every time, and it kicked in today. Why is it that I can look at myself alone in the mirror and see a me who is just slightly heavier than she'd like to be, and be okay with that, but then I see myself beside my sisters and suddenly transform into some massive bespectacled white whale with a double chin and a dumpy wardrobe? Milky white skin can in fact be attractive on a girl, and it is a lot softer than tan (=damaged) skin, but unless you're willowy you don't look Snow White beautiful, you just look like a big marshmallow. In Japan it was the same thing as it was at the map painting today--I left the house feeling fine about myself, but then I saw the pictures and almost cried. It just feels so unfair, that no matter what I do I'm just fighting a losing battle that started in high school. If you were to draw a graph of my weight over the past four years you'd see a sort of sine curve where the entire graph is gradually shifting upwards. Even when I was exercising every single day at the beginning of sophomore year my weight only evened out at about ten pounds heavier than my lowest weight a year and a half prior (when I was pure muscle) and I even started to gain it back (and it wasn't muscle) living on the healthiest diet I could imagine. It feels like no matter what I do it only gets worse, and I don't even have the advantage of losing my appetite when it gets hot out or forgetting to eat when I'm stressed or busy. Unfortunately, I tend to eat constantly, and when things get rough I just eat more to take my mind off of less happy things. Then there are the people who think they're doing me a favor to lift my spirits by feeding me things I like, which I appreciate (even though sometimes, like in Japan, it felt more like they were saying, "Oh, look, she looks so cute and happy when she eats, let's feed her more since obviously by the looks of her it's what she likes to do" as if I were some sort of sideshow attraction), and for a moment I feel good because I'm not letting myself be governed by diets or calories or any of those superficial monsters that have possessed so many of America's females, and I feel like I'm accepted the way I am. But then I see another picture of myself and watch another TV show where there will never ever be a protagonist who is not supposed to be goofy who isn't either waifish or ripped or another magazine cover stained by the drool of dozens of men featuring another of America's Favorite Skinny Minis (and it's so depressing when people who actually looked average, like Kelly Clarkson, go all anorexic on you because their publicist said it would be better for their image--or let's just hope it was their publicist and not them deciding they needed to look like a stick figure, because that would be sad, even though that's sort of what I'm sort of saying), and feel like people here must look at me next to people like my sisters (lean, tan, white teeth, sun-bleached hair, glasses-free, comfortable wearing a tank top and shorts or even a bikini top in public) and laugh. Really, no matter how "okay" people may think I am, here there's simply no comparison. Maybe if every person I met on the street had a chance to have a conversation with me, they'd be able to look past the exterior and decide I was a worthy human being, but in the land of sun-kissed beach babes, I'm just some pale chubby goofball who doesn't stand a chance. I'm not talking about matters of the opposite sex, either. Just first impressions in general. I can see it in their eyes when they look at me. It's half unfortunate circumstance and half sort of motivation, too. When the average middle school girl is anorexic, you're just bound to get a lot of really skinny people around. Yeah, yeah, you may say that's not what matters, but here when you're scanning a crowd it really does. It should technically be motivating me to work out and eat better, but when I see pictures like this I feel like I can do nothing but sit down and cry. (Note: This image is only going to be up for probably 12 hours, a day, max, so if you missed it I'm sorry. I really don't want it being publicized for any longer than is absolutely necessary. It's incredibly embarrassing and depressing, really. It may not look that bad, but if you could see it bigger and see the rest of the pictures on that roll, you'd see it. Plus, being me looking at myself, of course I can pick out every single flaw in less than two seconds.)
When I get in moods like this, all I want to hear is "yes, here is the magic solution to your problems," so when my parents say, "well, if you want to lose weight you should start keeping a food journal, and if you go on a run every day and go to the gym four or five times a week and keep your calorie intake below 1800 or so and then you should be able to lose a pound or two a week" it just make s me want to (don't be scared I'm not going to hurt myself) cut little holes in my abdomen and thighs and squeeze out the excess fat--it seems like it would be so easy if I could just get past the pain and stop the bleeding, right? Sorry, that was a little gross, but that's seriously the thought that always crosses my mind. I know that the only way there is the hard way, but the thing is I've gone down that road so many times and it's never worked like it was supposed to. The only time it's ever worked was when I was spending six days a week, five hours a day doing some of the hardest physical activity I've ever done, and only after three and a half years of practicing like that did I finally get a metabolism boost and fall into good physical shape. Looking at that, I don't think I'll ever have the time, self-discipline, or energy to devote to that kind of exercise regimen, so I'm stuck thinking I'm going to be like this forever with nothing to do about it. The best I can hope for is to cut out most of the things I like and be at the high end of an acceptable weight (according to the health experts of america). I could "accept my body the way it naturally is" except I know I can never be happy like this, even with all the positive reinforcement in the world, if I'm going to have to constantly compare myself to people like my sisters. And that thought just makes me want to eat more.
Well, my dad's making me go into the office with him early to do some stuff, so I have to go to bed early and once again forgo writing the end of my road trip story. I should be in a better mood to do it, anyway, so perhaps it's for the best. I can't have my story tainted by tonight's cynicism.
posted by Sassafrassy at 11:34 PM
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