I remember being 20 or 21 years old, walking into the DMV (the day AFTER I was supposed to be there) and sitting down to wait for my turn at renewing my license.
I was sitting in the chair, digging out my old license (from when I was 16 and pretty hott) in case the examiner needed to see it. I managed to drop it and this guy next to me leaned over to pick it up for me.
He glanced down at the picture and said, "Is that you?" I replied, "Yeah."
The next thing out of his mouth was, "Damn girl, what happened to you? You used to be hot."
Sure, in those past four years, a lot had gone on. I had graduated high school, started community college, moved out of my parent's house...all the "usual" stuff. I had also been finally diagnosed with PCOS. My eating was out of control. I had no real understanding what that really meant...or how I would end up struggling with this for the rest of my life. Or how, as I get older, it gets even harder.
Or how much I changed.
In four quick years, I went from a tan, long-haired, not-slim-but-just-a-bit-overweight "hot chick" to looking like a "fat-Chinese-girl" as I have forever referred to that next license picture as. Ugh.
Okay, flashforward to the present.
I still sometimes catch myself not realizing what I look like. Oh, how do I explain that? Here's an example:
I am getting dressed in the morning. I sit down on the end of the bed, in bra and panties, to maybe help B zip her pants or something and I catch a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror. If you are as big as I am, you know what I mean when I say that when you sit down, your fat, errr, spreads.
That is hard to explain, but when you sit down, everything kinda bunches and just blobs together, making you look even bigger. I assume you get what I mean. Well, I see myself in the mirror, fat all spread out and I think, "Oh. My. God. is that me?" My belly rests on my lap. The back-fat sitting there like a couple of weird boobs above my rear. (it's ok to laugh at that one) Years of PCOS-ridden body damage, laced with binge/comfort/emotional eating, staring me right in the face. Then I am SLAMMED with a deep horror, followed up with a second slam of sadness and hopelessness.
Sorry folks, that may sound depressing and harsh, but it is the simplest and most honest way I can describe it. What happened to me? I do not know. I do know. I hate it. I do not seem to be able to fix it. It is that swing I have blogged about. It is that madness. It is that street I walk down and keep falling in the hole. It is me.
I am a lot of what happened to me.
How in the world do you fix yourself when part of yourself is working against you?