I went to the thrift store yesterday. I came home with about $150 worth of stuff, which at a thrift store equals a LOT OF STUFF. There were books for Mags, some summer toddler dresses (my kid? Shorts and tshirts? Oh my no. In the words of, err, someone famous: "Give me dresses or give me death,") ranch shorts and pants for Husband, maternity stuff for The Mothership and a handful of onesies for her unborn Sweet Potato, some books for my grandmother back in Wisconsin, some stuff for Mags to grow into, towels for the ranch -- oh, and one pair of shorts for me.
Yeah, shopping for me has become even more of a nightmare than just being tall. The weight thing? Currently, its a losing battle. My weight just keeps on creeping up. But I can tell you that I've never been so horrifed, repulsed or disgusted with my body in my entire life. A year ago February, after much kicking and screaming, I had gotten my post-pregancy body down to a size 10. Now, I wear an 18. An EIGHTEEN.
Yesterday, even Husband, who is ever 150% supportive (and can say something because he's carrying a few extra pounds himself) admitted that, yeah, I do actually look pregnant. I didn't get mad; how could I? Most of my extra weight *is* smack in front of me. I got asked again just the other day when I was due. I couldn't really get mad then, either. I think I look knocked up as well.
I try to remind myself that for nearly 6 months, I had fairly debilitating migraines almost daily. Then wracking fatigue. So, no, I did not get any real exercise during this time. Plus, I sit a lot at school. And the tumor diagnosis and accompanying hormone fucked-upedness? Not helping my metabolism.
But I'm still filled with shame. I feel like I've somehow really let myself go and I have no one or anything else I can really blame it on. It kills me. Admittedly, in the past month, there has been some serious comfort eating. Too much stress, too many unknowns, barely sleeping. I needed to feel better in some way. And after eating healthy for so long and having it not really make a difference, its hard not to justify "Hell, why not? Doesn't seem to be making a difference anyhow!"
These days, I really do not look at myself in mirrors. I occasionally look at my face, but just barely. Really, to me, my body doesn't exist from the neck down. This little game works pretty well for me -- until I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Them my stomach knots up, I get a sweaty flash of embarrassment, and I avert my eyes as quickly as I can.
I didn't even try on the shorts at the thrift store yesterday; the changing room has a mirror. I was willing to chance the $4 that they fit rather than actually face myself in there. And most clothes, XL or whatever size, are still proportioned for someone shorter than me. So the shirts all peel up over my bloated tummy, which hangs over the waistband of all the pants/shorts/skirts I try. Really, I have two pair of elastic waistband pants I wear nonstop, because they're the only things that really work right now. In fact, all of my clothes are big, baggy and shapeless. Hell, I wear my polar fleece sweater all the time even though its June because it hides my body so well.
I accidentally stumbled across Torrid at the mall the other day. If you are unfamiliar, its basically a trendy store for,well, fat teenagers/hipsters. I picked up a few things -- at the very least I got some incredibly fun underwear that no longer cuts of the circulation to my legs. I call them my "Funderpants". I got a halter top that is cute, but I have nothing that matches for the bottoms, so it doens't really get worn, and I picked up a pair of shorts, but the injections have made me bloaty on top of being fat, so those already basially don't fit. I guess I could go back, but its so depressing.
I've also been trying for months to be accepting of my body, I had a baby so I come by it honestly, blah, Husband still likes to paw me, blah. And it is just not working. I want to run out and jon a gym now that I feel somewhat better, but I've got less than two weeks left. Then, I've got a feeling the following two months aren't going to be any more active; in fact, guaranteed much less so. That means that this is only going to get worse before it gets better. Dear god.
I know enough about myself to know that a huge part of my issues stem from the fact that I want to be found attractive, and not just by Husband. I really enjoy occasionally having some guy walk by and check me out; I cannot tell a lie. I like being hit on my open-minded folks, even if I can't do anything about it; I cannot tell a lie. And the idea of going to BM this summer- where svelte, mostly naked hot folks walk around all the time, while looking like I do - has made me reconsider actually going. I cannot tell a lie. To be completely ignored, to be completely invisible to 30,000 people is not something I'm sure I'm going to be able to handle. Shallow? Vain? Insecure? Yes, yes, and let me see.... yes. But truthful.
The clock tells me I need to get dressed and pick up my daughter from day care. Elastic waistband pants? Check. Fleece Sweater? Already wearing it. Anything underneath it? Nope, 'cause it sure as hell is not coming off.
Ack. I look like a stereotypical fat person from Wisconsin. You know, the kind I always looked down on. Kill me.