My Earlobes Still Feel Fat

Yesterday I had a total meltdown. Deep into week three of my workout program, I was starting the third and most difficult video after two days of extreme-cramp-related slacking. I got through five minutes before I wanted to throw the television across the room. I made it another twenty-five before I gave up and went to take an incredibly frustrated bath. Once clean, and somewhat calmed (repressed), I did the what-to-wear dance, battle number two. After my boyfriend chose an outfit and convinced me to leave the bedroom battlefield, strewn with the casualties of my fray with myself, I went to deal with my hair. A bit of battle history now: my hair was my best feature when I was fat. It was thick and lush and curly/wavy/versatile, and it was generally easy to deal with. When I lost a hundred pounds I also lost half my hair. It became wispy and difficult and generally looks best short. In the past seven years I’ve spent way too much time and money trying to make it do what I want it to do,...

I hate London right now. As if I didn’t feel shitty enough about my body most days in the states, London is interminable. UK sizing is about 2 sizes above US. So if, like me, you usually wear a size 12 dress and size 16 jeans (yes, I am pear-shaped), then here you’d wear a size 16 dress (plus-size in the US) and size 20 (!!!) jeans. And if, like me, you had multiple surgeries and angsted for years in order to leave the twenties of sizing behind, you probably wouldn’t appreciate this. In fact, you might find yourself standing in the workout gear section of Marks and Spencer, crying as you tried to make yourself pick up said size 20 so you can do your workouts and try to feel better about yourself without having to always hitch up your old ragged Target pants. I scared my boyfriend, who keeps thinking his words will help and telling me how much he loves my body (as if it were his opinion that mattered), and I depressed myself, and am now hovering in limbo between two desires: starve m...

Oh my god I am SO pathetic. I think I might be in worse shape than I was when I was heavy. Four minutes into my first attempt at what is admittedly a tough workout video (but not this tough) my arms felt like they were going to fall off. Another ten minutes and we were into squats. Well, they were. I was “marching it out” because my thighs were having seizures as a result of the few squats I managed. Luckily they recovered for plie time, but still! I have no idea how this happened. Probably the car my parents gave me for my 22nd bday, mixed with moving to the flat land of London. Yeah, I’m thinking that’s the combo. When I’m here I walk all the time, but it’s flat. When I’m home in SF it’s hilly and I try to walk a good bit but it’s nothing compared to when I used to have to take the bus/ walk everywhere. Gah! Anyway, day one is over, and although I dread the pain of tomorrow I’m also looking forward to feeling buff again. Stupid maintenance-requiring muscles. In case I ...

Today I start my 6-month intensive workout regimen. It's called Slim in Six, and it worked for me a few summers ago, in that I lost like 10 pounds and 13% of my body fat. Although, I was still the same pants/dress size I am today, and have been since about a year after the GB, cosmetic procedures notwithstanding. Anyway I'll be working out every day except Sundays (or, in this case, Tuesdays, because I'm supposed to start on a Monday but I figured procrastination=bad), without fail. Seriously. I'll be enlisting my boyfriend to put himself in the direct line of fire by reminding me every day, and kicking me in the butt if necessary. It will be necessary. So next time I write I should at least be smug, if not slender. I've decided that smugness and general strength (and flexibility; since I stopped working out I can't even reach my ankles!!!) will just have to suffice for the time being. If nothing else, working out regularly has always made me feel better ...

My dad’s cousin is in town, and she hasn’t really seen me since the gastric bypass and the other surgeries. I mean, she saw me once, but it was pre-plastic and only for a second. So I’m suddenly acutely aware of how much I’ve changed again. And also of how I’m supposed to be, in others’ eyes. For example, I know that gastric bypass means I should never eat sweets and I should only eat half-sized portions of everything. But it’s been like 7 years. I’ve learned how to eat sweets (unfortunately) without getting sick, and my stomach has stretched a little. I still don’t eat that much, but some days I can even eat a whole sandwich and chips. But when I tell people about the surgery, or when people have heard about it and then meet me for the first time, I feel like I need to be extra careful to conform to their idea of how I should be. I also feel like they might be confused as to why I’m a) not that skinny and b) not happy with my body. Sometimes people look at me quizzically, as ...

I’ve been so unhappy with my body recently. I can’t really figure it out. I’m eating fairly well, I haven’t gained any weight, my clothes still fit me…but for some reason every time I look in the mirror I look thick. And I don’t mean sexy black girl thick. I mean linebacker thick. Or just fat girl thick. And it’s not even just that I feel fat. Today I forwent my usual padded push-up bra for my favorite lace underwire, which, although it doesn’t make my breasts look particularly large, makes them feel huge and fantastic. But today they just looked tiny, and flat, and then the rest of my torso as a result looked flabby and large. I’m still wearing the bra, but I feel awful. And it’s not just my upper body. I mean, my hips and thighs have always been the biggest part of me, but usually I think they’re curvaceous and lately I think they’re just gargantuan. Somehow the subtle flow of their form, which used to be feminine and sexy, is now just heavy and cumbersome. There's real...

I spent all morning cruising the internet for publishing jobs, newspaper opportunities, and magazine internships. I was so excited to really sink my teeth into writing, and specifically I decided I was going to apply (when I’m back in the US) for any and all openings at Cosmo, Marie Claire, Glamour, what have you. But just now I was reading Marie Claire, and all I could think was how I couldn’t afford the beautiful clothes in the pages, and how sickening it is that one article of clothing can even cost that much in the first place. And of course, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about how I’d never fit into them anyway. Worse, when I tried to talk to my boyfriend about it, when I thought I was opening up about how sick my mind is, how I used to (and sometimes still do) wish I could be anorexic instead of fat, I realized he wasn’t listening. And he doesn’t see how it’s hurtful, because he doesn’t understand that I was talking about something so important. Because he wasn’t list...