Being a fat girl in New York sucks. For one, maximizing the opportunity to shop all the designer and couture sales seasons comes short since everything is basically a sample size. Even if I could afford it, I couldn’t fit an arm in a couture Alexander McQueen gown, unfortunately. Which leaves me to just shoes. Still, there are better options for trendy fashion in NYC than anywhere else - which is a tremendous plus.
Then there’s the dating pool, which is whittled down to select options. Seriously, you know you’re fat when homeless or ghetto people on the subway platform are the only men that holler at you. Although, my best friend would argue that I should’ve realized I was fat when the scale tipped over 165 at my height. Bastard LOL
I’ve come to terms with myself that I will never be 100 lbs. again in my life, ever. I am working on a better self though. Yoga for meditation, spinning to free my mind.
My advice to other fat girls in New York City: Don’t be too discouraged. There’s hope. If I can find and date great (and not so great) guys, you can too. Instead of focusing on what size you are, just work on being healthy - which will boost your confidence - and confidence in a woman is beautiful and what really attracts men (at least the type of men you WANT to attract). However, when your ass can’t walk down an aisle or fit through a doorway without turning sideways - it IS time to reevaluate. It’s now a matter of health, not looks. Forget tipping the scale or dating or whatever - be concerned with your health. Your risk for heart disease, diabetes, and other health problems multiply when you are overweight. Get support from your friends, or if you need someone to be a gym buddy - leave a reply, and I’ll help you out.
Your health matters most. You can’t date anyone when you’re dead.
Everything I seem to do reminds me of you. No matter how hard I try to look away, you’re there staring back in my face. I feel so miserable I just want to pull the hair out of my head. I try to do everything to get you out of mind; whether it be through endless shopping on CREDIT, going out to parties, or even getting a new boyfriend. Nothing seems to work. You’re so good at this. How do you do it? Can you tell me your secret? I want to know how you forgot me so fast. I want to forget you too. I want to forget you so badly. And everytime I think I am, everytime I think I’m better, I think of you. I think of all the things about you that made me giggle. Sometimes I long for those days to return. I feel pathetic and retarded for falling for a man I don’t even know. I ask God everyday why I feel this way? I sometimes question myself if I brought this all onto myself. Whether you were a gift to me, and I simply threw you away because of my own careless stupidity.
I walked into the liquor store for the fifth time this past week. I’ve been an alcohol junkie for the past 2 months. It’s to the point where if I’m feeling shitty enough, I take it straight from the bottle. I want to die, yet I don’t because I know that’s just stupid. The numbness that conquers my emotions at night fades away in the morning and kills me in the afternoon; when the clock hits 9, my cycle begins. While I was staring at the selections of Vodka up on the shelf, I heard that damn song by Jack Johnson. I found myself humming along by the song’s end while I managed to feel a few tears down my face. Then some man yelled to his son, who coincidentally bore the same name as you, to quit playing with the beer bottles. I thought why, of all people, would God be pulling a stunt like this on me. It hasn’t just happened once or twice, but many many times. For instance, I was over at my aunt’s house for dinner last night, and I met a little 9 year old girl named Samantha (nicknamed Sammy) that was my aunt’s friend’s daughter. She was a bit chubby too. Everywhere I go, I see remnants of YOU. At the golf course, at the shopping mall, at home, just… everywhere. I then began to stare wide-eyed at the Jack and Grey Goose on the shelves, and grabbed one of each flavor. I’ve learned how to mix my own drinks. Aren’t you proud of me? I’m turning into… into you.
You’re right though. Why must you wait on me? I’m not real. I’m nothing anyways…
Have you ever wanted to die? Not because you want to… but because it’s the only escape you know that will help liberate yourself from your deepest, darkest, inner-most, emotionally-draining thoughts…
I feel 100% normal about 4-5 days a month… it’s a cycle that I have endured every day for the past two years… I feel physical pain… then mental pain… sadness… self-abhorrence… hopelessness… then emptiness. There are times that are worse than others… in which I cry profusely and eventually become emotionally numb. There are times I think back about the “shoulda coulda woulda” experiences in my life. I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, that I admit I regret and feel the most ashamed about: dropping out of school a few times, explosive fights with my parents, having affairs, and the list goes on…
During this period of depression, I mostly act out of impulsiveness… having no self-control or restraint from what is rational. I can feel calm and then explode into a sudden bout of rage more than usual. Deep down, I have no compassion, apathy, or regard for others. These are thoughts I keep locked in because I know it’s not socially acceptable to display such emotions. Slowly, however, my demons have begun to creep out into the daylight.
My depression is deeply rooted inside of me. If I could be thinner or taller. What I’d give to have a less rounded face or bigger eyes. I could get used to being smarter and more intelligent. Had I been more responsible when I was younger, I probably could have achieved more today. I am not content. I am never satisfied. I want more. I’ve achieved so much, yet I still feel like a failure. If I were just one step ahead, perhaps I could be a better version of my present self.
I feel alone… all the time. Even when I am surrounded by loving family and friends who all support me. I know it, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything anymore. I am just numb to everything that is good and happy. All I have left is the inner sadness that haunts me day and night. I fall asleep to escape the conscious sorrows, and yet my fears haunt me even in my sleep. I get less than 5 hours a sleep a night because every sickness, every phobia, every thing I hate and loathe about myself comes true even more vividly to me in my own sorrowful slumber.
The small pockets of joy that I am gifted only a few days a month are what I cherish most. The few moments I am able to wake up early in the morning, and feel fresh and brand new. The seldom times I enjoy hearing the sound of my own laughter and feel genuine happiness. My soul radiates warmth and love, and I feel so content. I hold on to these moments as my most precious because I never know when it will fade away from me.
My biggest fear is losing myself. The person I’ve become is wrought with despair. It saddens me to know that without help, it can get worse and I could one day never be myself again. I acknowledge and feel the pain that my parents would endure if I were ever committed. More than losing myself, their pain hurts more. Being able to get help is one thing that I am most fortunate for. Many people who suffer from depression don’t know they are until it’s too late. I’ve seen extreme cases of what happens when it’s too late, and it scares me shitless. The last thing I want is to die with zero recollection of my own self.
Life in itself is a blessing, and we should maximize the time we have left to strive for true happiness. There will always be pain and suffering in our journey, but we will endure it brilliantly. Our resilience to overcome despair is what makes us human. Being happy, being joyful, and being full of love… that is life. And we all deserve that, even when I feel otherwise during my 25 days of depression…