Weighty matters

I'm re-reading Good In Bed, by Jennifer Weiner, for about the 8th time. I love this book because it's one of the few books - actually, the only book - I've ever read that gets what it's like to weigh too much. All those horrible things that Cannie thinks and says about her body are things that I've thought and said. She talks about her ex-boyfriend buying plus-sized lingerie for her and how she would never wear it because it would make her feel stupid. I can totally relate. TCBIM bought me a little purple, strappy, short little thing once. I tried it on once, for about 30 seconds, arms crossed in agony across my chest, my head hanging and my face flaming red. I tore it off and wrapped myself up in a voluminous, body-concealing bathrobe.

I've talked about this before, but it still holds true: I hate how I look. I know I'm supposed to be proud of the fact that my body shows that I've born children, but I'm not. I loathe my body. I won't look at myself in a mirror. I've perfected how to stand just so in a changing room, so that I can't really see myself as I'm undressing, to lean against the wall so that most of me isn't visible in the mirror . I've learned to just inspect my face, and to inspect that first, before moving down to see how the clothing looks on me. I take it in small bits - first, checking the fit across the shoulders, sliding down to the chest, then to the belly and hips and finally, the butt. I look at each section as clinically and dispassionately as possible. No lingering, no putting the whole package together, just piece by piece, until I can get out of the dressing room and look at the outfit from a distance. Even then, I don't visually attach my head to my body. If I don't, then I won't see myself as I really am, which is the goal.

I always assume that people are judging me on my weight, that they don't see me, they just see a fat chick. It was ok, bearable, when I was pregnant. You're supposed to be round when you're pregnant. It's cute. It's not cute when the baby is three months old and you still look six months pregnant. It's not cute to see that spread of white skin, those flabby thighs and saggy boobs. It's disgusting. I'm disgusting.

I wish I could stop myself from thinking this way. I wish I could at least accept how I look, since I can't seem to lose much weight. But I can't. It affects everything I do. It affects my relationship with TCBIM, with my friends, with my family. I'm always comparing myself to people I know - What are they eating? Are they comparing it to what I'm eating? The Do they think less of me because I weigh too much? Does that person not like me because I'm overweight? Is that waitress judging me because I ordered the steak instead of a salad?

There's a voice always running in my head, like a soundtrack on an endless loop. It tells me that I'm not good enough because I'm fat, that I don't have many friends because I'm fat, that TCBIM couldn't possibly really love me because I'm fat. In spite of repeated assurances by him to the contrary, I still hear that, all the time. Every time we get into an argument, I assume he's going to look at me in disgust and wonder what he's doing with a fat girl. Every time he's late getting home, I wonder if he's met someone thinner who won't embarass him. It's awful.

I'm going to therapy, before anyone suggests it, and I will be bringing it up next time. I just wish I could shut that voice up, before it completely ruins my life.