2000-10-16

Blah blah blah

There's a line in an old Gang of Four song: our bodies make us worry.

This past weekend I totally snapped. I am so fucking tired of worrying about my body, worrying about it for all the wrong reasons.

I want to tape a sign over the little window on the bathroom scale - "GORGEOUS." Better yet, I think I'm just going to junk the fucker this coming Trash Day.

I spent most of Saturday nursing a heaping helping of self-hatred, because I couldn't find a pair of vinyl pants that fit over my ass. I wanted to wear something fun and silly for my band's show that night, and by the end of the afternoon I was reduced to a (pardon the pun) blubbering heap on my sofa, having allowed myself yet again to believe that Size 12 = Disgusting, Worthless Wretch.

On Sunday I went to my niece's christening. At one point during the afternoon I was sitting in the living room, watching one of my other nieces as she romped happily and unselfconsciously outside in the backyard. Meanwhile, I was catching bits and pieces of the conversations of some of the women in the room - "ab crunches" and "fat thighs" and something about keeping a goddamn food journal ("you'd be amazed at how much you eat in a day!"). I looked out at my niece and I thought to myself: how much longer will it be before she's brainwashed into feeling uncomfortable in her own skin? A year? Two years? She's not even ten now; how much longer will it be before she's fully conditioned to apologize for the amount of space she occupies in the world?

I'm not going to sit here and blame the media, or men, or Britney Spears for making me feel like an unattractive blob.

I propagate this belief system every time I check a package to see how many calories I'm eating.

I propagate this belief system every time I use the word "fat" as a part of a put-down, or, on the flip side of this equation, every time I think I'm bestowing a big fucking compliment by telling a girlfriend she looks "skinny."

I propagate this belief system every time I walk by a thin woman and think, "Eat a fucking sandwich, you freak." Because it's not just about fat, it's about wanting what other women have (or don't have), it's about resenting other women, and it's stupid and a waste of a energy.

I'm tired of talking about it, too, because even though everybody knows it's fucked up, nobody wants to hear someone go on and on about it, myself included. I generally abstain from soapboxing these days. I had a girlfriend cut me off once when I started to wax indignant about some body-related issue or another, telling me: "Lees, I know you get all worried about this, but I want to be skinny, okay?"

And what can you say to that? You can't say anything.

All you can do is decide to set an example by doing: have a fucking dinner roll without making sure that everybody knows how terrible you are for eating those evil carbohydrates. Stop apologizing. Stop asking if what you're wearing makes you look "fat." So fucking what if it does?

Here's the deal: I'm not "fat." I'm not "skinny." I'm me. I'm healthy and I eat what I want and I don't plan extra trips to the gym in a panic every time I have a second helping of something or an "unplanned" piece of birthday cake. And if I can't find a pair of vinyl pants that fit over my ass, I'll wear jeans.

lisamcc at 19:45:00

previous | next