The lovely bf took me to Mexico a couple of months ago, and I started a blog post there. Obviously, I never finished it, because I was distracted by the beautiful pool and our personal pastry class and the delectable food everywhere we turned, but I looked at it again today and realized that the subject I wanted to touch on is still worth discussing.
Basically, I started the post with a photo of the amazing resort where we were staying. And I mean AMAZING. I’ve never before in my life stayed at a hotel so beautiful and comfortable and just plain stunning that I didn’t want to leave the compound walls. I’m all about real Mexico– the people, the culture, the food– but I had absolutely no desire to leave ever. I could seriously live in this amazing place.
This is important for you to know, not so I can brag, but so you can understand how pissed off I was to still feel like such a fat cow. I mean, here I was, with my own private villa with its own private POOL, and the only person who saw my cellulite was my boyfriend, who couldn’t keep his hands off it, but I was periodically miserable. And it was only sporadic because I refused to let myself sink into fat tears more than once a day. Any more often would be a disrespect to the resort.
It was just so frustrating. This was beyond a doubt the most romantic holiday I’ve had in the past few years, and yet I couldn’t stop feeling like I was disgusting and fat and didn’t deserve it. Which, if I’d let it, could easily have ruined the vacation for both of us. And it threatened to, a few times. But luckily the bf managed to walk the very high tightrope between acknowledging my insanity and encouraging it; he did a wonderful job making me feel heard but still putting his foot down and not letting me wallow.
In the end, it was still an amazing experience. But it was also a wake-up call as to how much my body image still holds me back. And I’d say I need to get help with my attitude, but instead all I keep thinking is how much thinner I need to get, and how much more nipping and tucking I need. And I know that in and of itself is a sign of psychosis, but I guess I’m too far gone to believe it. All I know for sure is that I’m too fat for the world of luxury, and to be honest it shouldn’t be that much work to enjoy a beautiful, romantic holiday with my handsome, attentive, funny, adorable boyfriend.
I’m really scared that one of these days he’ll lose that patience that’s become a hallmark of our relationship, and where will I be without him? Selfish, I know– obviously I’d be devastated to lose him in general, but I’m also terrified that the body issues would spiral out of control without him around. Maybe that’s a sign I need a therapist (like there weren’t enough signs already!), but I really don’t want to establish a relationship with a shrink over here because I’m only going to move back to the states and have to find a new one in a year. Maybe I should go back to my old high school shrink in SF and just have phone appointments? I’m not sure I can afford her though…
OK I’m rambling, but the point is that even though I feel like I’m slowly getting better, every now and then I get a wake-up call to how bad the state of my mind really is. Hopefully one day I’ll be stable enough (financially and locationally) to find a good therapist, but until then I can only hope that writing this book will help me work out some of my issues on my own.
Basically, I started the post with a photo of the amazing resort where we were staying. And I mean AMAZING. I’ve never before in my life stayed at a hotel so beautiful and comfortable and just plain stunning that I didn’t want to leave the compound walls. I’m all about real Mexico– the people, the culture, the food– but I had absolutely no desire to leave ever. I could seriously live in this amazing place.
This is important for you to know, not so I can brag, but so you can understand how pissed off I was to still feel like such a fat cow. I mean, here I was, with my own private villa with its own private POOL, and the only person who saw my cellulite was my boyfriend, who couldn’t keep his hands off it, but I was periodically miserable. And it was only sporadic because I refused to let myself sink into fat tears more than once a day. Any more often would be a disrespect to the resort.
It was just so frustrating. This was beyond a doubt the most romantic holiday I’ve had in the past few years, and yet I couldn’t stop feeling like I was disgusting and fat and didn’t deserve it. Which, if I’d let it, could easily have ruined the vacation for both of us. And it threatened to, a few times. But luckily the bf managed to walk the very high tightrope between acknowledging my insanity and encouraging it; he did a wonderful job making me feel heard but still putting his foot down and not letting me wallow.
In the end, it was still an amazing experience. But it was also a wake-up call as to how much my body image still holds me back. And I’d say I need to get help with my attitude, but instead all I keep thinking is how much thinner I need to get, and how much more nipping and tucking I need. And I know that in and of itself is a sign of psychosis, but I guess I’m too far gone to believe it. All I know for sure is that I’m too fat for the world of luxury, and to be honest it shouldn’t be that much work to enjoy a beautiful, romantic holiday with my handsome, attentive, funny, adorable boyfriend.
I’m really scared that one of these days he’ll lose that patience that’s become a hallmark of our relationship, and where will I be without him? Selfish, I know– obviously I’d be devastated to lose him in general, but I’m also terrified that the body issues would spiral out of control without him around. Maybe that’s a sign I need a therapist (like there weren’t enough signs already!), but I really don’t want to establish a relationship with a shrink over here because I’m only going to move back to the states and have to find a new one in a year. Maybe I should go back to my old high school shrink in SF and just have phone appointments? I’m not sure I can afford her though…
OK I’m rambling, but the point is that even though I feel like I’m slowly getting better, every now and then I get a wake-up call to how bad the state of my mind really is. Hopefully one day I’ll be stable enough (financially and locationally) to find a good therapist, but until then I can only hope that writing this book will help me work out some of my issues on my own.
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