the bottom line....

This was written before my gastric bypass surgery in 2005; life is a little different, but body-image and its attendant goblins do not bugger off easily.

Interesting, hmmmm?

…and so that brings us to the subject of fat.
FAT
To my surprise, this word roils the passions as much as politics or religion. Try making a statement that even hints at advocacy for fat folk and watch out. Many thin folk wax virulent on this subject. This observation has been reinforced by readers' reactions to articles in The Fray and Dear Prudie (Slate.com) and to other written material that invites readers to post their opinions.
I wonder if these thin folk who harbor so much bitter hostility toward fatties were traumatized by perhaps a fat Aunt Ethel who pinched their little buttocks with too much zeal and held them far too close to her damp and imposing bosom? Or maybe it was just some overfed bully in Sears "Huskie" jeans who tormented them on the way home from school -- some freckle-faced Neanderthal named Howard or Elwood who is today probably a pharmacist wearing trifocals.

And all those thin folk are damned sick and tired of hearing all the lame excuses we fatties proffer for our condition:

"It's genetic."
well, maybe it is a little -- but I doubt if my ancestors had Twinkies and French fries and Kung Pao Beef -- and my ancestors worked -- physically worked -- about 12 hours a day. I'd be laid out on a hospital gurney if I worked that hard.

"I have a slow metabolism."
alas, this is true. I think I could have a piece of toast every two weeks and still exist. I'd be a she-bear to be around, but I would probably be perfectly healthy. So what happened to the wiring between metabolism and appetite??? In me, there is none. Or if it is there, I have shorted it out.

“I don’t eat any more than the next person.”
yeah, if the next person is a sumo wrestler. I eat too much.

"I'm big-boned."
hon, not that big-boned.

Thin folk are right: these are just excuses. Most of us obese folk do not have a clue -- at least one we will admit to -- why we are fat. It is a complex issue, one with layers that are emotional, some that are genetic, some that are social and some that just are. Food is a comfort. Anybody who denies that food is a comfort probably has some other deep, dark secret or vice that sustains them. Food is my drug of choice, but unlike Robert Downey, Jr., who can look absolutely normal and attractive in spite of his addiction, the results of mine are instantly recognizable. And who gets the most sympathy? Not that sympathy is what I am after. What am I after? I guess I want to know why I am the way I am.
I was a colicky baby. I cried non-stop for 6 months. Bellyache was the diagnosis. Well, if your belly gets that kind of attention in the tabula rasa days, isn't it logical that filling the belly to avoid the aches would be a primitive but predictable behavior response? Plus in my mom's youth, it was generally thought that tactile contact with a baby, i.e., lots of holding and cradling, was bad for the baby. So imagine this barely developed little consciousness, gnawed by bellyache, desperately needing comfort, alone in a crib with some cheesy stuffed animal with goofy eyes. That is a rotten scenario.
But of course, we grow up, we learn to understand, we see that these elemental needs crying for satisfaction can be quieted other ways. Or do we? Do we succeed in growing up, understanding and seeing only part of the way? Is there sometimes a scrap of very powerful irrational thought still surviving in us? Did the unique dynamics at work in our infancies create yawning abysses in us that we struggle to fill however we can?
I am an intelligent woman. I want my mind to control my body. But my body has always held me prisoner. And this makes me ashamed. And when I am ashamed, I feel bad. And when I feel bad, I want to be comforted.
Pretty elemental, huh?
Thin folk, I apologize for causing you to feel disgusted when you see me. I apologize for taking up too much room, spilling over on to your side of the airline seat, for not having a more attractive frailty. I am sorry my internal organs are swathed in fat and that you find that visualization revolting -- frankly, I don't care for it much myself.
All my life I have tried to be a good person. But no matter how good I am, I am still fat. I have grown old never knowing what it is like to feel attractive -- and for a female, right or wrong, that is a big deal. Whatever I manage to accomplish is chopped off at the knees by this shortcoming. So I am going to approach this mentally. I have a new mantra. All morning long I have chanted (silently): the body obeys the mind, the body obeys the mind.

I just want to be healthy. I do not want to be some burdensome invalid. I do not want my family to despise me. I have always approached this issue emotionally, so I'm going to try to address it mentally.

the body obeys the mind

Music in my Life

when I was young – you know – really young –
the roiling liquid essence of me – that part in your young soul
that keens and leaps and shrieks for expression –
that part of me loved music.
now I am old – you know – growing older and wondering why –
and it is a rare time when music touches the small puddle
that is left inside me --
still crying for expression, but life – you know –
those annoying little nuts and bolts and screws of life –
get in the way and leave so little time, so little time.
will I fade like so many do, never singing the song,
never making the mark, never scratching my name
onto the implacable rock?
an echo of an echo diminishing in eternal canyons…