Fat Chick in Polka Dots

They say fatties shouldn't wear polka dots. I'm not sure who "they" is, exactly. But what I do know is that there can't possibly be a rule against dressing your blog in polka dots. Heck, a fat chick will wear her dots where she can!

I've hit rock bottom today. I stepped on the scale and weighed in at a super-sized 230.5 lbs. For some reason, this didn't bother me as bad as two week's ago's 223 lbs. How I am gaining all of this weight so fast is far beyond me. And maybe the reason I can't figure out why my ass is beginning to look more like a mac truck is that I'm caught in this horrible spiral of lying to myself.

I lie to myself about everything. I tell myself that I don't "really" look "that big". I tell myself that tall girls always are forced into bigger sizes. Even when I was 120 lbs, I was a size 12. I tell myself there's nothing wrong with being a hardly sized 18w mother of two. I mean, I did give birth to two kids, right? Aren't all 35 year old women a little on the chubby side? I tell myself that my husband doesn't mind.

But the trick here is that I know I am lying to myself. I know that he's lying to me. His eyes told me that tonight. I might as well have been squeezing into size 5 polka dotted panties (make that a thong) as he looked away after I asked him if my weight bothered him. He tried to be eleoquant about it, of course. Always the diplomat. But I could see it. And later, I caught him watching a free Playboy video of an assortment of 1980s vixens on the flat screen in our bedroom. Sigh.

I know he's no longer attracted to me. And how could I blame him? I don't think I could possibly be attracted to myself either! I scoot in and out of the shower as fast as I can these days. Today, I tried to make myself feel better with a long soak in the tub. That worked, for a while, while I was weightless. But when my hips stuck to the sides of the tub as I fumbled to get out, that's when I broke into tears.

I have no one to blame for this but myself. I don't do anything. I don't move off the couch and I find that if I stand for too long, my back hurts from carrying all this extra weight. To top it off, I just quit smoking a month ago and am finding that instead of having more energy, I'm only more compelled to want to curl up into a ball on my bed and cry (after stuffing my face with an entire bag of potato chips).

I'm that fatty that watches The Biggest Loser while stuffing my face. I laugh on the outside, to my kids, as I order them to bring me another soda or bag of chips while we watch the show. But on the inside, I'm crying. I cry all the time.

Being a fat chick is not anything I'd wish on anyone (well, maybe except those skinny bitches who've judged me throughout the years). It's impossible to explain what it feels like to feel trapped in your own body. What it feels like to dread waking up in the morning because you know you will have a mega struggle ahead - trying to fit into your jeans - or even to find jeans that haven't apparently "shrunk in the dryer" AGAIN. Sigh.

Rock bottom. I'm here. I need to do something about this now. I know if I keep going at this rate, I will soon be crossing the big three hundred lap. I've been to the doctor's - who have done every test and haven't been able to find anything medically "wrong" with me.

I know what is wrong with me. I'm depressed and my fat makes me only all more impressed. I'm this girl who longs to wear that itsy bitzy bikinni (yellow's my color) but has never been able to. I've never really even been fat all my life either - that's the weird thing. It's like I always had this fat chick inside of me but she's on the outside now. Even when I was thin, I convinced myself I was fat. Now that I am fat, my inner skinny bitch is telling me that I'm not "thatttt" bad. I don't know who to listen to. I feel skitzophrenic - something else that makes me feel fat.

It's time for me to face the truth about my weight. 1. I got here on my own, no one made me eat that extra portion or third helping, 2. buffets are half of how I got here and instead of getting a bargain by eating at one, I was really only hurting myself, 3. My incredible contempt for exercise got me here, 4. I can't blame this gain on quitting smoking as I was already gaining before I hit this new rock bottom. The list goes on and on but it's too exhausting to write out. The point is, what am I going to do about it?

Well, first things first, I'm going to start writing a public food journal. I feel like if people can see (and I am held accountable for) all of the food I'm putting into my mouth, it may jst make me stop twice before I do it. I'm also going to find a way to get my fat ass some exercise. My tween boys will be good for this. They are tired of watching me gorge myself and I suspect that they are beginning to be embarassed by my weight. I'm also going to throw all the junk food in this house OUT the door and try to never look back. Those are the things I'm going to do for starters.

I've lost weight before and I know I can do this. I'm just not sure how I'm going to do this without ephedra and laxatives this time (she says, reminding herself that she wasn't able to keep the weight off the last time she used those things).

Oh! And I'm also going to name my skinny and fat chicks. My fat chick is Bertha. My skinny chick is Lola. I'm going to try to write here every day, making myself, Bertha, and Lola accountable for our decisions. I'm also going to do what I can to give myself positive talk vrs negative beat yourself over the head with your fat ass flubber labels. (Yikes, I have a long way to go).

These things are only a start, I know. But I have to do something. At some point, I'd like to see myself in polka dots - not just my blog....

-E
Fat Bottomed Girl