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Man, I am a little stuck. Not all in a bad way. I'm stuck between between fat-hate and fat-acceptance. Frankly, I think the fact that I wear short shorts and minidresses and think other fat women look good in them too (to a point, but I'm working also on differentiating between "not attractive to me" and "not acceptable") and I do think I'm good-looking (whenever I see a girl who looks like me, I always think she's pretty) puts me pretty far ahead of where most of us are in terms of body acceptance.

It's so strange... it really makes me rethink my whole conception of eating disorders. I mean, what is my motivation if I'm not ashamed of my fat? The truth is, I still am, of course, but... it's different. I mean, I look in the mirror, naked, and I like what I see. I'm not bothered by the size or the fat but by the stretch marks and pimples, and even those I'm not really concerned about.

And it's interesting. I've been spending a lot of time of fat fashion blogs and fat acceptance blogs, and I never realized how much evidence exists that would effectively counter any anti-fat argument. I mean, it's not too hard to blow down "it's gross/ugly" (actually it's a bit harder to argue against an illogical argument, since clearly the rules are different) but it often comes down to, "but it's unhealthy" or "it's wasteful."

Now, on wastefulness, okay, you may have a point. Especially the whole beef thing... But let's keep things in perspective. Most fat people overeat. Fine. But let's look at the average American lifestyle. Overconsumption is the norm, not just with food. I'd dare most anti-fat arguers to show me how the lifestyle of a fat person is significantly more wasteful than that of a non-fat person, all factors counted. C'mon, let's just make it a law that all fat people have to recycle and compost. That should offset the damage.

There is also the issue of 'costing the health system more money.' Really? Our health system is incredibly fucked. I think we have bigger fish to fry than whether fat people cost it more money. I mean, fuck, if you get diabetes from a high-sugar diet, yeah, you're probably overweight. But if you're overweight from a balanced diet (which is totally possible--anyone up for avocados?) not only are you most likely healthy, you are also most likely better off than a thin person eating small amounts of junk food. And, hell, I wouldn't be as fat as I am if I were more active. That's part of how I gained back so much weight. But even at my LW I was still technically overweight, you know, and the fact that I rely on public transportation (when I can afford it--I often end up walking) means that I am more active anyway than a person of any size who drives (and doesn't work out, which only about 30% of americans do, and you can be sure that they aren't the ONLY thin people in the country).

So, to review:

1) Ugly
2) Wasteful
3) Expensive

1) Fuck you
-It's pretty impressive how wide and varied people's tastes are. It's also pretty impressive how powerful an influence society can have on someone's developing taste.
-There have been vastly different standards and valuations of beauty throughout time and culture. for example, in japan, when the kimono was still the most common mode of dress, a woman's shape was ideally straight so as not to interfere with the cyclindrical shape of the kimono. large breasts were undesirable. or ancient greece, where a woman was ideally somewhat plump, and again had modestly-sized breasts, rather widely spaced. And in some cultures today, such as in Mauritania, fatness is the ideal, with young girls pressured to gain weight to be attractive.
-Basically, there is no body form which is innately and universally more beautiful than others. If you think otherwise, you are full of shit.
2) Not too bad in the grand scheme of things, really
-easily offset by easy conservation actions like recycling and reducing beef intake
-creates a harmful stereotype which extends to those who are fat for reasons other than overeating
3) Again, in the grand scheme of things, this is not the thing to be concerned about
-we should be focusing on preventative care so that health problems, including those that do correlate with obesity don't get worse
-creates a harmful stereotype which extends to those who are fat and HEALTHY, or whose health problems are not correlated with obesity

Alright? There are a few more points I'd maybe like to make, a few crinkly parts I'd like to straighten out, but that's what about that for the time being.

After all of that, which I sincerely believe, I still would rather be thin. Kind of. It's like... It's so hard! I want to be truly accepting of all bodies and most lifestyles (I'm not sure I can be really open to a rockin' pederasty habit) but I still want to conform in some ways. I want that feeling that I could have almost anyone I want (sure, I could have a few that I want, and no matter what I look like I can't win everyone, but...), and to do that I have to play their game. But is it really that important? My current boyfriend thinks I'm cute and sexy, and I almost believe he really thinks that. I mean, I do believe it, like 90% of the way, which feels so good. And food, oh, it's so delicious!

And then... well, the feeling that comes from not eating... the clean feeling, the power, the control... The triumph of pants so loose the waistband is scrunched by my belt... The peaceful trance of endless calculations... The pride of bandaged feet and endorphin nausea, and knowing nobody I know could have kept up with me... Yes, it feels good to do something well. It feels good to succeed. It feels good, in a perverse way, when I let it slip that I haven't eaten in 5 days and I'm set for at least 5 more, to see their shocked faces. And it angers me so much that through all of this effort, I have still never been thin.

I want proof. I want to show them what I can do. It really burns me up inside, I mean, I feel like I've got a stomach full of hot coal, when I go out and I know that, whatever anyone might think of me, attractive or ugly, confident or uppity ("inappropriate"), too fat or just right, they would never imagine what I can do. What I have done. What I have put myself through. Is it time to give up? To cut my losses, get over it, be happy how I am?

Maybe. Maybe it's time to stop caring whether people know I've struggled. I mean, that's an element of it, isn't it? "I may be fat, but it's not like I haven't tried!" Yeah, there's definitely that. And of course, that old old old motivation of wanting to show what pain I have to the world. That's why I started cutting, isn't it? And doing drugs? But it always becomes about more than that. In the end, it turns back in on me, and I end up hiding it like everything else.

And what pain do I really have? Am I inwardly tortured? Do I have a dark secret? I don't know. I don't like to think of myself that way. I don't like to identify that way. I am someone with relatively poor coping skills, maybe. A little bit of wonky brain chemistry, perhaps. Some problems in childhood? Some parental alcoholism, maybe a pervy babysitter, maybe a drunken half-rape here and there, some evil stepmothers and a gone daddy. I know, I know, I'm understating, right?

But then, am I? Am I understating? I feel like those are all things to be gotten over. Things which I refuse to give power by acknowledging what power, if any, they have. I refuse to identify as a victim. And, I always think of this dream I had, where I was somebody else and I went through bad things and came out the other end and was being interviewed and I said something like to the effect that it is more crippling to be thought by society as somehow broken than it is to have the actual experiences. For me, anyway, that's something.

And then, well, here's the other thing, and please don't think I'm getting too big for my britches (no pun intended) because I'm not super egotistical: maybe I'm just too smart for my own good. I mean, maybe I just think too much. But I can't help it. If I don't think about things, then I have this terrible boiling feeling inside that comes from ignoring important questions.

I really need to sort things out, but I'm beginning to think that it's impossible. Or maybe it would more accurately describe my feelings to say that I think it may be infinite. I can constantly sort things out, but I can only reach a certain point before I look back and see that the things I first sorted have fallen into a new sort of disarray and, looking forward, the expanse of unexplored, chaotic territory stretches on and on.

I don't know. But I feel okay right now. The Boy is wonderful. I feel amazing with him. He doesn't like to be called The Boy, because that's what his mother calls him, so I'll be thinking of a new thing to call him.

My hard drive crashed and I lost everything. I'm out of money. I missed my psychiatrist appointment so I'm running out of adderall. I have a box full of old moldy dishes from my room to wash. I'm sleeping on a deflated inflatable bed. My father's kidney transplant has finally failed and he's back on dialysis, and I don't know how I'm going to get to visit him this summer. I dropped my classes after the drop deadline, leaving me with two W's for Summer, and I still have two Incompletes from Spring (the work for which I have to completely restart because what I'd had done was lost in the crash). I'll have to appeal my financial aid for the third term in a row. I have mysterious, chronic hives, which I've had for a couple months now and show no sign of abating. I have a lump in my ankle, but I don't think it's serious.

But I got this guy, and he's smart and beautiful and tall, and maybe he's not the quickest wit with jokes or super-knowledgeable about post-punk or all the subgenres of metal, but it doesn't actually matter, I found out, because we can have real conversations and great sex and I'm sure I haven't felt quite like this before.


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