As I sit in a gay coffeeshop this morning, I reflect that about one year ago to the day I began this blog as an almost live journal to my life. With the turmoil of losing my first job (and likely my first career), I wanted to express whatever I was feeling openly and honestly, without providing too much context as to the who. Today, I wish to share a little bit about some of the most traumatic experiences in my life and how that has affected my perception today.
My physical image has always been something that I have been fundamentally in tune with. When I was younger, I was a very scrawny creature. Cue aging, and a lack of activity, and my body began getting bigger and bigger. With this larger exterior came a heavier baggage … bullying. For the most part of my life, friends have not been the easiest for me to maintain or to obtain strictly because of this bullying that I experienced as a kid. I was often called fat behind my back, I was never chosen first (usually last) at sports (probably for more reasons than just my lack of a physical body able for sports).
My parents wanted me to partake in activities, so they had me try baseball, football — to which I really gave my all; I even tried tennis. With each of these sports, I felt confused and rather out of place. When hurtful words of my largeness came into play, these psychologically altered my perception and, thus the premise of this post.
I lost weight after eighth grade and got thinner. I gained weight again in college and, after, lost an incredible 30 pounds of weight … and people thought I was skinny then … so how could I lose that much weight? Even now 30 pounds lighter, there are still pockets of fat on me and people continue to call me skinny.
WHAT IS SKINNY?
To be perfectly fair, I think people may actually find me to be skinny. Yes; I am slimmer than I have ever been, but does that define me as skinny — and, if not, then what is my definition of skinny.
While I know I am never going to have Zac Efron abs, I do desire some type of definition in my midsection. Or, more obtainably, no love-handles or muffin-tops. People don’t understand that, when I wear clothes, there is fat that goes over the pant/boxer line, and this is the visual image that bothers me so much. I don’t care if I’m not strong, I just care that I can take my shirt off and feel good about it. I want to be someone looked at, not just glanced at.
To be continued … this is a long post tbh.