It's been a bit over six months (almost seven) since my last post to this blog. So much has happened; so much that has aged me and threatened to make me lose my way. I can't say I've not veered a little, but I can say that I'm still headed in the right direction.
Working again, I have to admit, helps. Now that I'm working near my gym, it's going to be much easier to get there. Now the trick is to figure out the right hours to go, when I can actually get on the machines and in the pool. Having long hair, also means that I'll need extra time for hair maintenance. Hmm, maybe a swim cap (then rubber smelling hair? what's the lesser of two evils, I wonder)?
In the last six months, I have lost so much. Little of it has been weight, even though I have often been without appetite and therefore not eating. Unlike some, I don't lose when I don't eat. I gain or just get sick. In the last year, I've thrown up more over stress and anxiety than I have in my whole life (and it's not like I've always been cruising at party altitudes for the past thirty years)! I have also had to eat food that I know is not good for me or is something I have trouble digesting, because it's cheap. Love the veggies, but they don't keep you filled up for long.
Having health benefits is going to work well with this journey. I'm planning to get a full exam and get some much needed procedures done (like seeing a dermatologist for the funky bump on my cheek for which I have the fine LA air - and my inability to afford facials - to thank). More importantly, I'm going to be working with my doctor to see a nutritionist or perhaps look into bariatric surgery. I still have a sliver of hope that I might be a mother one day and this body is the wrong vessel for it.
Still, a dark cloud hovers overhead. I've been through too much too recently. My focus is on fighting for and working toward my future as well as my present, and the demons that need vanquishing are the cause of all the bad weather that follows me around. Right now, I am gathering the strength and the stamina to blow those clouds away. And I think the more I take care of myself, the more my journey will be fueled.
I'm just glad I never gave in. I never completely tossed in the towel. I always kept this goal in mind and did my best not to use stress as a reason to hurt myself. Learning is good. Changing for the better, is gold. Try it. You might like it.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Breakdown on the Journey...
It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything about my journey to hotness. If you know anything about what’s been going on in my life, you’d know why this has been somewhat low on my priority list. But it is worth mentioning, here, that losing one’s sense of self in the melee of stress that is unemployment is something to be watched, something to be concerned about. It is in these times that it becomes easy to forget where we are heading, forget our goals, forget things that are important to us and forget to concentrate on those things rather than the bill collectors and interviewers in one’s life.
I have not let go, have not given up. I am still working on how I feel about myself, my look, my hotness as it were. However, it is true that the trials of life have just reached a fever pitch that I can no longer ignore. I am sleeping too much lately. Sometimes, I am sleeping too little. But I am also drinking pitchers of water that I normally don’t have time to drink while working. My hair is falling out, I have sores on my head from compulsive nervous scratching (even cutting off my nails hasn't helped this) and I have unholy pains in my muscles. Yet I still am trying to get to the gym whenever possible. In fact, that last time I was there, rockin’ out to AC/DC on the seated bench press machine, a sweaty but handsome Tommy Shaw from Styx nearly snuck past me after a basketball game.
Something that cannot be overlooked, is how easily one’s self image can get tied up in money problems. I mean, first off… I’ve not been able to get a hair cut in months. That’s not to say my hair is too bad, but it doesn’t look nice and healthy and taken care of. Surely an interviewer will notice my brittle ends. My skin looks like someone has been regularly beating me. I have bumps that I cannot fathom. A facial would be exquisite right now. Exquisite and financially retarded. My food intake has largely been Barilla pasta (yummy, but not with this much regularity). Those 10 for 10 dollar sales are awesome when one wants to avoid the nutritional backslide that is ramen, but that much processed pasta takes it’s toll. It just does. So right now, for the most part, I seem to be in defense mode… making sure that all the horrible after effects of poverty don’t do maximum damage. And every now and then, I put on an outfit that makes me feel… attractive-ish. I even wore my lovely velvety high heals
to the hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint to have dinner with Skari. Made it harder than hell to get in and out of her car, what with all the aches and pains, but dammit… I wanted to feel girly! It’s rare I really go out any more!
And so it seems that I have taken a small detour on my journey. It’s as though my karmic car broke down in some bum-fuck-egypt town and I have to wait for a part that is nigh on impossible to procure. While I wait, I am still tweezing my brows and winking at myself in the mirror, just so I can remember who I am… and where I’m headed. That is, heading toward my happiness… inside and out.
I have not let go, have not given up. I am still working on how I feel about myself, my look, my hotness as it were. However, it is true that the trials of life have just reached a fever pitch that I can no longer ignore. I am sleeping too much lately. Sometimes, I am sleeping too little. But I am also drinking pitchers of water that I normally don’t have time to drink while working. My hair is falling out, I have sores on my head from compulsive nervous scratching (even cutting off my nails hasn't helped this) and I have unholy pains in my muscles. Yet I still am trying to get to the gym whenever possible. In fact, that last time I was there, rockin’ out to AC/DC on the seated bench press machine, a sweaty but handsome Tommy Shaw from Styx nearly snuck past me after a basketball game.
Something that cannot be overlooked, is how easily one’s self image can get tied up in money problems. I mean, first off… I’ve not been able to get a hair cut in months. That’s not to say my hair is too bad, but it doesn’t look nice and healthy and taken care of. Surely an interviewer will notice my brittle ends. My skin looks like someone has been regularly beating me. I have bumps that I cannot fathom. A facial would be exquisite right now. Exquisite and financially retarded. My food intake has largely been Barilla pasta (yummy, but not with this much regularity). Those 10 for 10 dollar sales are awesome when one wants to avoid the nutritional backslide that is ramen, but that much processed pasta takes it’s toll. It just does. So right now, for the most part, I seem to be in defense mode… making sure that all the horrible after effects of poverty don’t do maximum damage. And every now and then, I put on an outfit that makes me feel… attractive-ish. I even wore my lovely velvety high heals
to the hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint to have dinner with Skari. Made it harder than hell to get in and out of her car, what with all the aches and pains, but dammit… I wanted to feel girly! It’s rare I really go out any more!And so it seems that I have taken a small detour on my journey. It’s as though my karmic car broke down in some bum-fuck-egypt town and I have to wait for a part that is nigh on impossible to procure. While I wait, I am still tweezing my brows and winking at myself in the mirror, just so I can remember who I am… and where I’m headed. That is, heading toward my happiness… inside and out.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
My Crush on Mr. Spock Comes Full Circle
Recently, during a chat with a friend, I suddenly realized that my two most major relationships were with men who bear a striking physical resemblance to Mr. Spock, of the original Star Trek series. I can remember finding him attractive at a very, very early age. My first crush, when I was five, was on a 22 year old friend of my cousin's who was, shock of all shocks, tall, lean, dark haired and of lowish voice. But I say that my fascination was with Spock, rather than the Leonard Nimoy,who portrayed the character (for those of you just crawling out of your cave or the womb or both) because the attraction was a full package. The "package" I refer to, of course, would be the combo of the pointy ears and eyebrows, unreasonably snug clothing, deep voice and unnaturally shiny hair. Until recently I hadn't much considered the character's phlegmatic, if somewhat patronizing nature to be any factor. Yet as I revisited my old flame via TVLAND, a few nights ago, I realized that I had largely found that attractive as well (not necessarily now, mind you). Not knowing what Leonard Nimoy was like, it just seemed right and reasonable and if I may... logical, to assign my penchant to his Vulcan alter-ego. And although I thought this would be a fun enough revelation to share as a blip, I found my way to New York Times article, while searching for a delicious image of my alien love model this morning, and it is just too fascinating (and relevant) to pass up pointing out.
It turns out, that Mr. Nimoy is a noted and published photographer. Naturally, since I don't follow the personal lives of performers I like, I didn't know that. Apparently, he had a very successful run with his Shekhina project and during that time was approached by an obese woman who had asked if he would like to photograph her. The article ends with pointing out that while Nimoy finds his models beautiful, that he is not necessarily sexually attracted to them which, I think, is entirely fair and intriguing that it be his response after seeing all of these women naked.
The reason this blog ended up here, in a place where I am sharing my feelings about how to come to terms with my body image and what I want that image to be, should seem obvious once you have read the article. If you can't be bothered to read it, I'll try to put this as plainly as I can. That is, naked, I look just like these women. To see them being portrayed, not as monsterous, boil festering, filthy, smelly ogres is so new it shocked me to see these images. Even pornography aimed at men who desire women just like the models in this project, usually features the most degrading and grotesque caricatures of everything hateful you could assume of a fat woman.
As I have said before, while I do not find myself to be ugly, nasty, gross, or any other of the usual negative adjectives assigned to women of such weight, I have had more negative input on my body than any other aspect of my life. I was conditioned from the time I was a toddler, as most are, to consider women who look like these models... women who look like me, to be nothing short of disgusting. It is a conditioning I fight every single day. I'm terrified that if I don't fit into the culturally imposed idea of beauty and sexiness, that the deficit of affection, intimate companionship, romance and sexual expression burning a hole in me, will swallow me. Yet my refusal to succumb to that expectation (coupled with my upbringing), is precisely what got me into this predicament. The irony of that fact is not lost on me.
Yes, I do still have a shred of hope that there are men out there who are less concerned with body image and more concerned about ALL of the things that make up the attractiveness of a woman. I've held onto ridiculous amounts of hope for a long, long time. Believe me. I have soldiered through the immense pain brought on by men who have cared deeply for me but could not get past the social stigma of being with a large woman (even when they found me sexually irresistible). I have courageously exposed my hope on dating sites full of men who lust after large women, and learned that a large percentage of them want such a woman for all the wrong reasons (certainly where I am concerned. The two biggest being the misconception that we are either all completely lacking in self esteem, or ball busting Brunhildas). One man described what he imagined my body to look like in a way that I am certain to have been a pleasurable, sexual image, but literally made me want to throw up. Not because he was being nasty, but because everything he had described was exactly what I been being trained to abhor in others, and particularly hate in myself. Just remebering my reaction, now, terrifies me and I believe that moment was the catalyst for realizing that I need to change. fter all, it would never occur to me to hate another person for not being just like me. How sad that I would feel revulsion over someone who does?!
Finding one more man, willing to assert the notion that a flat stomach, tiny breasts and boyish hips are not the only attributes of beauty in a woman gave me the dose of hope I needed today.
So maybe Mr. Spock got all the looks,
but it looks like Lenny got all the character. Maybe I was on the right track after all! ;-)
It turns out, that Mr. Nimoy is a noted and published photographer. Naturally, since I don't follow the personal lives of performers I like, I didn't know that. Apparently, he had a very successful run with his Shekhina project and during that time was approached by an obese woman who had asked if he would like to photograph her. The article ends with pointing out that while Nimoy finds his models beautiful, that he is not necessarily sexually attracted to them which, I think, is entirely fair and intriguing that it be his response after seeing all of these women naked.
The reason this blog ended up here, in a place where I am sharing my feelings about how to come to terms with my body image and what I want that image to be, should seem obvious once you have read the article. If you can't be bothered to read it, I'll try to put this as plainly as I can. That is, naked, I look just like these women. To see them being portrayed, not as monsterous, boil festering, filthy, smelly ogres is so new it shocked me to see these images. Even pornography aimed at men who desire women just like the models in this project, usually features the most degrading and grotesque caricatures of everything hateful you could assume of a fat woman.
As I have said before, while I do not find myself to be ugly, nasty, gross, or any other of the usual negative adjectives assigned to women of such weight, I have had more negative input on my body than any other aspect of my life. I was conditioned from the time I was a toddler, as most are, to consider women who look like these models... women who look like me, to be nothing short of disgusting. It is a conditioning I fight every single day. I'm terrified that if I don't fit into the culturally imposed idea of beauty and sexiness, that the deficit of affection, intimate companionship, romance and sexual expression burning a hole in me, will swallow me. Yet my refusal to succumb to that expectation (coupled with my upbringing), is precisely what got me into this predicament. The irony of that fact is not lost on me.
Yes, I do still have a shred of hope that there are men out there who are less concerned with body image and more concerned about ALL of the things that make up the attractiveness of a woman. I've held onto ridiculous amounts of hope for a long, long time. Believe me. I have soldiered through the immense pain brought on by men who have cared deeply for me but could not get past the social stigma of being with a large woman (even when they found me sexually irresistible). I have courageously exposed my hope on dating sites full of men who lust after large women, and learned that a large percentage of them want such a woman for all the wrong reasons (certainly where I am concerned. The two biggest being the misconception that we are either all completely lacking in self esteem, or ball busting Brunhildas). One man described what he imagined my body to look like in a way that I am certain to have been a pleasurable, sexual image, but literally made me want to throw up. Not because he was being nasty, but because everything he had described was exactly what I been being trained to abhor in others, and particularly hate in myself. Just remebering my reaction, now, terrifies me and I believe that moment was the catalyst for realizing that I need to change. fter all, it would never occur to me to hate another person for not being just like me. How sad that I would feel revulsion over someone who does?!
Finding one more man, willing to assert the notion that a flat stomach, tiny breasts and boyish hips are not the only attributes of beauty in a woman gave me the dose of hope I needed today.
So maybe Mr. Spock got all the looks,
but it looks like Lenny got all the character. Maybe I was on the right track after all! ;-)
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Romance, the potholes in my road.
Generally speaking, when I am not involving myself in looking for, or thinking of finding a romantic partner, I don’t spend a whole lot of time worrying about whether or not I’m attractive. Although it sounds egotistical or even self-deluding, I think I’m pretty. I’d date me. I’d date me and never let go! Yeah, I would probably support the me I’m dating to continue working toward regaining a healthier lifestyle, but it wouldn’t be a deal breaker that I wasn’t already there. Life, after all, is a journey. We’re all trying to get somewhere. For some, it’s not a big deal if the person they’re seeing is on their way, already there, or been there and ready to stop moving. But whether you agree or not (and I know at least one of my readers will), weight issues and financial distress are probably two of the biggest deal breakers no matter where you are in the journey and it isn’t until I have to consider myself through the eyes of others, in hopes of gaining their attention, that I begin to pick myself apart. When I start picking, it slows down my progress.
So, I have hit a pothole. While I repair the damage, let me talk to you about this a little, okay? Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at multitasking. Our chat won’t slow me down any more than I already am.
Recently I rejoined an online dating site. I’m not totally sure what made me do it. Maybe it was the success story I’d heard from a friend, maybe it was hearing how he was talking about his new girlfriend that made me think, “Awww, I want someone to think about me that way.” I don’t know. As usual, finding sexual activity hasn’t been a problem (unless you consider having to refuse it a problem, which I often do), so that wasn’t it. All I know is that almost as soon as I got started, I wanted to cancel my profile and I’m still debating that option.
Creating a profile is only slightly painful. While I clearly don’t have too much trouble talking about things that interest me, I do feel put out with “packaging” myself for a specific consumer. After all, if I knew how to advertise for the man I’m looking for, I feel certain someone would have bought my line of wares by now. The thing is, I’m a legitimately complicated person, full of all the right contradictions (like being girly but totally able to be one of the guys) and some that might piss a person off (I can be both deeply logical and emotional depending on the topic). The more I divulge, the more I feel each attribute requires definition or at least explanation. That’s bad. Really bad, considering that most men are less apt to read an epic, and I’m disinclined to try to synopsize all the crucial details that someone should know when deciding to hung out with me,much less try to date me. Eventually my description always misrepresents me in some regrettable way.
If I post that I like one thing or the other, these tastes are often the single minded focus of those who contact me and although they virtually never intend it, I end up getting frustrated over this element of their shopping experience and run away from them. Do people really not want to dig that deep before deciding whether or not to enter into a courtship of any kind? Of course, I might be more inclined to be patient if I was being approached by someone I found really, really attractive. That’s where it gets, well, shitty… on both sides.
When it comes to those who wish to pursue me, I do okay until it comes to posting photos; Rather, until I put up a full body shot. When I opened up this muddy can of romantic worms, I was getting pinged every five minutes by men ranging from 23 to 52. As soon as the full body shot was up, suddenly even ones I was chatting with regularly stop responding. So with one perfectly pleasant exception, suddenly the well was dry again. There’s only so often you can have this happen before you stop deciding it must be a coincidence. One man I had found really attractive blocked me mid conversation when the photo was posted. I won’t lie… that stings a bit. It’s happened before. Nowadays when something like that happens, I consider myself to have been spared words of abject disappointment. After all, rejecting is a nasty business. Only the truly despicable find pleasure in dashing someone's hopes of the ultimate hook up.
So, what about that “exception” guy? Isn’t he enough for now?
Ah yes, the one that stuck around. Like I said, this stuff is shitty on both sides and the truth is, based on what I read and what I saw, I wasn’t attracted enough to move forward. That’s not his fault by any stretch. He’s friendly, well spoken in his writing, enthusiastic, involved in his passions. He even sent me a link to some press that referred to him as handsome (my press pointed to my heft!). These are all things I desire and expect in a man. By all accounts he seems like a good guy; that which LA is in short supply. As is often the case, I found myself revisiting his profile in hopes that the last time I’d seen it I was just not open, not in a good mood. But for whatever reason, I just didn’t feel compelled. Feeling like crap over the idea of having to tell him, in any way shape or form, is what makes me want to throw in the towel. More often than not, this is precisely what my dating experience has been… talking to or going out with men whom I should feel lucky to date, feeling lukewarm and hoping that something will develop if I put in enough time. And while I think that some of my past dates deserve to wind up with someone who doesn’t care who they’re with (in the case of those who can’t put forth the most miniscule effort to make themselves desirable, even as a friend), many of them don’t. That is certainly the case for the man who was genuinely interested.
It pains me to feel like there is something wrong with me that is preventing me from connecting. And even though it's always nice to meet good people, I don't really have trouble making friends. I am not on a dating site, splaying my guts out like a sausage squeezed out of it's casing, in hopes of a bigger crop of male buddies.
If anyone had once suggested that I would find myself becoming increasingly closed off to the idea of finding the right man at this point of my life, I would have laughed my guttural, obnoxious laugh and shot some snarky yet playful remark indicating my utter disbelief. But here I am cramming whatever I can into the doorjamb to keep the heavy door to my heart from closing, and finally …the lock from latching. I get more and more closed off every year. And with each woeful attempt at connection, I feel increasingly idiotic for even trying. I honestly never thought I could reach this level of romantic pesimism in my life!
Despite the obvious limitations my flab brings to the table, what I feel doesn’t have anything to do with my body image. It is what I have experienced of dating thus far; the heaviness that weighs on my heart to tell a truly nice man that I don't want to date him, the pain of rejection when someone I am very attracted to feels that way about me, the anxiousness we both feel on that dreaded first date where we're hoping against hope that we won't have to have any more first dates and the deflation of spirit when we realize we are bound for another. It's all too much sometimes. And luckily, I know better than to believe being thin will change what I hate about this process.
So for those of you, my quiet readers, that believe my journey is one where all my effort is spent trying to attract a man and hoping the final destination to be “and they lived happily ever after,” it is most assuredly not. If it… if HE finally comes, I will consider it nothing short of a miracle. Not because I think my being fat makes me less of a catch, but because it is getting harder and harder to meet someone in a more organic way, all we have to go on with these dating sites is a list of ingredients. If I do find love it will be because this brilliant, attractive man figured out what I already know, hot or not, that I am loving and more importantly loveable.
So, I have hit a pothole. While I repair the damage, let me talk to you about this a little, okay? Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at multitasking. Our chat won’t slow me down any more than I already am.
Recently I rejoined an online dating site. I’m not totally sure what made me do it. Maybe it was the success story I’d heard from a friend, maybe it was hearing how he was talking about his new girlfriend that made me think, “Awww, I want someone to think about me that way.” I don’t know. As usual, finding sexual activity hasn’t been a problem (unless you consider having to refuse it a problem, which I often do), so that wasn’t it. All I know is that almost as soon as I got started, I wanted to cancel my profile and I’m still debating that option.
Creating a profile is only slightly painful. While I clearly don’t have too much trouble talking about things that interest me, I do feel put out with “packaging” myself for a specific consumer. After all, if I knew how to advertise for the man I’m looking for, I feel certain someone would have bought my line of wares by now. The thing is, I’m a legitimately complicated person, full of all the right contradictions (like being girly but totally able to be one of the guys) and some that might piss a person off (I can be both deeply logical and emotional depending on the topic). The more I divulge, the more I feel each attribute requires definition or at least explanation. That’s bad. Really bad, considering that most men are less apt to read an epic, and I’m disinclined to try to synopsize all the crucial details that someone should know when deciding to hung out with me,much less try to date me. Eventually my description always misrepresents me in some regrettable way.
If I post that I like one thing or the other, these tastes are often the single minded focus of those who contact me and although they virtually never intend it, I end up getting frustrated over this element of their shopping experience and run away from them. Do people really not want to dig that deep before deciding whether or not to enter into a courtship of any kind? Of course, I might be more inclined to be patient if I was being approached by someone I found really, really attractive. That’s where it gets, well, shitty… on both sides.
When it comes to those who wish to pursue me, I do okay until it comes to posting photos; Rather, until I put up a full body shot. When I opened up this muddy can of romantic worms, I was getting pinged every five minutes by men ranging from 23 to 52. As soon as the full body shot was up, suddenly even ones I was chatting with regularly stop responding. So with one perfectly pleasant exception, suddenly the well was dry again. There’s only so often you can have this happen before you stop deciding it must be a coincidence. One man I had found really attractive blocked me mid conversation when the photo was posted. I won’t lie… that stings a bit. It’s happened before. Nowadays when something like that happens, I consider myself to have been spared words of abject disappointment. After all, rejecting is a nasty business. Only the truly despicable find pleasure in dashing someone's hopes of the ultimate hook up.
So, what about that “exception” guy? Isn’t he enough for now?
Ah yes, the one that stuck around. Like I said, this stuff is shitty on both sides and the truth is, based on what I read and what I saw, I wasn’t attracted enough to move forward. That’s not his fault by any stretch. He’s friendly, well spoken in his writing, enthusiastic, involved in his passions. He even sent me a link to some press that referred to him as handsome (my press pointed to my heft!). These are all things I desire and expect in a man. By all accounts he seems like a good guy; that which LA is in short supply. As is often the case, I found myself revisiting his profile in hopes that the last time I’d seen it I was just not open, not in a good mood. But for whatever reason, I just didn’t feel compelled. Feeling like crap over the idea of having to tell him, in any way shape or form, is what makes me want to throw in the towel. More often than not, this is precisely what my dating experience has been… talking to or going out with men whom I should feel lucky to date, feeling lukewarm and hoping that something will develop if I put in enough time. And while I think that some of my past dates deserve to wind up with someone who doesn’t care who they’re with (in the case of those who can’t put forth the most miniscule effort to make themselves desirable, even as a friend), many of them don’t. That is certainly the case for the man who was genuinely interested.
It pains me to feel like there is something wrong with me that is preventing me from connecting. And even though it's always nice to meet good people, I don't really have trouble making friends. I am not on a dating site, splaying my guts out like a sausage squeezed out of it's casing, in hopes of a bigger crop of male buddies.
If anyone had once suggested that I would find myself becoming increasingly closed off to the idea of finding the right man at this point of my life, I would have laughed my guttural, obnoxious laugh and shot some snarky yet playful remark indicating my utter disbelief. But here I am cramming whatever I can into the doorjamb to keep the heavy door to my heart from closing, and finally …the lock from latching. I get more and more closed off every year. And with each woeful attempt at connection, I feel increasingly idiotic for even trying. I honestly never thought I could reach this level of romantic pesimism in my life!
Despite the obvious limitations my flab brings to the table, what I feel doesn’t have anything to do with my body image. It is what I have experienced of dating thus far; the heaviness that weighs on my heart to tell a truly nice man that I don't want to date him, the pain of rejection when someone I am very attracted to feels that way about me, the anxiousness we both feel on that dreaded first date where we're hoping against hope that we won't have to have any more first dates and the deflation of spirit when we realize we are bound for another. It's all too much sometimes. And luckily, I know better than to believe being thin will change what I hate about this process.
So for those of you, my quiet readers, that believe my journey is one where all my effort is spent trying to attract a man and hoping the final destination to be “and they lived happily ever after,” it is most assuredly not. If it… if HE finally comes, I will consider it nothing short of a miracle. Not because I think my being fat makes me less of a catch, but because it is getting harder and harder to meet someone in a more organic way, all we have to go on with these dating sites is a list of ingredients. If I do find love it will be because this brilliant, attractive man figured out what I already know, hot or not, that I am loving and more importantly loveable.
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