i tend to go casual by wearing t-shirts and jeans with flip-flops, unless it’s
trusty chucks
raining in which case i’ll switch it up by wearing a pair of vans or chuck taylors, et voila! i only wear make-up for special occasions or if i am trying to impress someone, like that slutty tramp the boyfriend still considers a friend even though her nickname in our crowd is “bucket,” short for “slut bucket.”
*sigh*
if i only had my 16-year old body back i could wear pretty clothes again. it’s one of those things where you don’t realize what you have until you’re fat? well, fatter than i would like to be, fatter than the boyfriend would like me to be, fatter than i meant to get. and i’m not practiced in the art of losing weight, i know the general idea but i haven’t been able to convert to that skinny lifestyle. in high school i was just a slammin’ hottie and i never really thought about it. now i’m lucky to have a pretty face, but it doesn’t seem as pretty when you always feel an impulse to suck in your cheeks while looking at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, wishing it weren’t so damn difficult for you to get motivated.
did i mention i’m not a huge fan of exercising either? i hate going to the gym because i always end up on the treadmill next to some spandex-clad blonde miss-i’m-training-for-my-5th-marathon or mr.-i-run-20-miles qd or i go to a yoga or pilates class and invariably i’m stuck in a spot in the room where i’m being reflected back at myself from all four mirrored walls while a bunch of tiny anorexic cheerleaders giggle and make me consider just going home and becoming bulimic. at least that’s something i can do in the privacy of my own bathroom.
ugh. now i’m getting all depressed just thinking about the daunting task ahead of me. i have to lose at least a noticeable amount of weight soon or i suspect the boyfriend may downgrade our relationship to just friend. he’s not shallow or anything, it’s just we’ve been together for almost four years and i’ve *ahem* changed and if anything he keeps getting thinner. if i wrap both my hands around his thigh, my fingers almost touch. i mean that would be hot on me, but for a guy it just looks unhealthy. so he’s gorgeous and thin with a runner’s body and i’m just desperately hanging on to my prettiness while trying to conceal the body i hate so much in progressively baggier t-shirts.
i feel like i’m a huge (literally) disappointment and i honestly hate occasions that require me to wear a dress since i detest my legs so much, and also because i was too poor for a long time to go tanning, a routine i desperately need to get back into because tan chub is more attractive than pale chub. skin cancer be damned!
poor boyfriend. i think he resents the fact that i don’t look like i did in high
if only...
school or even when we first got together. i can feel his resentment like radiation beams whenever we go out with his friends. his friends know me, have known me for years, and that makes the whole thing even worse because they know what i used to look like so they’re probably thinking how sorry they feel for boyfriend for having to go out with me. i mean, i know he loves me and blah blah blah. that doesn’t erase the times he’s suggested i go running or maybe i shouldn’t have those chips or isn’t that like your 3rd cup of milk today (yes, i like to drink milk and boyfriend’s mother only buys 2%)? no, my cruel mind doesn’t allow me to forget comments, no matter how insignificant, no matter how off-the-cuff. instead i plaster those words like enormous posters on to the walls in my mind.
he doesn’t mean to be mean, he doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings, he’s not that type of guy. he is, however, a very honest guy. in general this would be considered a very admirable trait in a man, but for me, a person who needs to be lied to in order to maintain some semblance of sanity, the honesty thing has posed problems in the past. i know he means well, it’s just that when a skinny person comments on your overweight-ness, well, it makes me want to wring him by his goddamn skinny neck.
oh and the boyfriend’s older brother has a girlfriend, e, who has given birth and is still the tiniest non-midget i’ve ever met in my life. she’s not even 5 feet tall and she tips the scale at like 87 pounds. i almost socked her in the face when she was doing that goddamn master cleanse diet to lose what she called “those last couple of pounds” by only drinking lemon juice, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup for like two weeks. the whole time i was thinking that i don’t have enough will power in my little finger to subject myself to that diet for longer than 12 hours. and the kick in the ass is the fact that she’s had a baby. i am so envious of her i could die. she’s sweet, too. maybe if she were a bitch i could hate her for that, but the bitch is effing nice.
yep, she’s nice, always wears make-up and cute clothes, and she’s exactly my boyfriend’s type. i know i’m being paranoid and i know that the boyfriend is too good of a guy to betray his own brother, but sometimes i worry that one day he’ll just get fed up with my stubborn fatness and look at her all done up in make-up, so thin and petite, and decide he is done. i’m not saying he would try anything with e, i don’t think she looks at my boyfriend in that way, and like i said the boyfriend isn’t that kind of guy… at least i don’t think he is.
when you start to lose your self-confidence, it’s easy to replace it with bad imagination. the boyfriend has reassured me plenty of times when i’ve gotten low enough to say something about my secret fears. but he lives in berkeley and he’s not here all the time to dial down the crazy.
i just have gotten used to the idea that he’s it for me, you know? i don’t ever want to date again or go through that whole awkward getting-to-know-you stage with someone else. i’m not one of those people who balks at the idea of marriage because you’ll never kiss anybody else or whatever. i love the idea that he’s the last person i’ll ever kiss. i hope he is. but why would someone like him want to kiss someone like me for the rest of his life? what if he ever realizes what i already did: that he could do so much better?
dans la 408 