I've had a lot of thoughts lately about being overfed in an underfed world. About taking up so much physical space in a way that body's just aren't meant to take up space. These thoughts aren't particularly revelatory or even probably applicable to other people but I figure, I've got a journal and I might as well get them down somewhere.
I am overfed. I overfeed my body regularly. I'm obese, fat, overweight, whatever word you choose to use, I don't particularly care, but at this stage in my life, I'm choosing overfed. It's not something someone's done to me, but something that I actively and regularly do to myself. I eat too much. I eat too many calories. I love food that's horrifically bad for you and I really enjoy eating a lot of it.
Or do I? I know my brain seems to think I enjoy it. But really I spend the whole time either not paying attention to what I'm eating, even though I've spent hours or minutes anticipating what I was going to put into my mouth, hours thinking and planning, etc., but when I'm actually eating, if I really think about it, there's nothing there. I don't love it. I enjoy a taste and then it's gone. No matter how large a portion I consume, the pleasure is going to end. Assuming that there was pleasure at all.
This is insanity. This is ridiculous. And it's hurting me. It's hurting my pancreas, it's hurting my heart, it's hurting my liver, it's hurting my knees, and fingers, and back, and feet. I am sick. So sick. Even if I don't usually even know it or feel it.
I'm educated. I know every diet out there, both sane and insane. I know what different foods do to the body, I know what I should eat and why. I have even managed to pull off eating those foods for months at a time. I know I should move my body more (or any, really). I know that this body I currently have is severely limited.
But it's not as limited as it could be or will be.
And then there's the emotional/relational side of things. I am overweight enough and have been for long enough, that my body shape doesn't make sense. It's weird and lumpy and my belly is lopsided and strange. I'm not attractive. My face is far from hideous, but my body is ridiculous. That's just...reality. Specifically, I'm not sexually attractive.
I am learning, though, as an adult, that not being sexually attractive is not the same as being repulsive. Are there douchebags out there who probably find me repulsive? Yes. But they also find perfectly normal women repulsive. That's on them, not me. I'm finally to a place where I can accept that people don't mind looking at me in neutral settings. That people, friends mostly, can find my face cute, adorable, pleasant, even. Real adults have the ability to ignore the ugly and see the beauty. Or at least the tolerable.
The thing is? I want to some day be attractive. I've spent the last ten years "knowing" that because of my weight gains and losses that even if I did ever lose a ton of weight or "get in shape" I would always be weird physically. There's always going to be weird elephant-like skin on my inner thighs. My arms upper arms are going to be permanently in 70-year-old grandma mode. My body is, visually, FUBAR. Unless the repair there is going to be surgery and then there's a whole other list of issues.
My point is I want a guy to want me.
That's my point? Yup.
I've spent my entire physical adult hood saying that I didn't want to ever be in a relationship. And it was true. But I'm starting thing it's also true that a little bit of it was about "knowing" that I was never going to be wanted and nipping any want or desire or hope or longing for companionship and physical affection (and sex) in the bud.
I have no conclusion. This revelation changes very little. I have no crushes, thank God. I continue to over eat. I continue to lay in bed on my days off, doing the tumblr, twitter, facebook, lj circuit over and over and over. It's safe there. No one can see my face. I don't have to make any sort of effort. I don't take up any more space there than anyone else does. But, doing this, my body gets softer and sicker, my mind gets more and more rewired to expect and want this habitual laziness and is probably growing duller as a result.
Everything in moderation, yeah? Except I don't know what that looks like. I don't know how that works. I am so completely undisciplined.
Not sure if I feel better by writing all this out, but I don't feel worse. Yay?!