Once upon a time, there was a little girl, who was generally a miserable baby, but a happy child. Huh? Well, when you look back, all my baby pictures show me crying -- I guess I just wanted attention, and never felt like I got enough. Maybe if I wasn't demanding attention 24x7, I would have been satisfied, but I just never felt loved enough, except when I was the center of attention. All of my childhood pictures show me posing, trying desperately to be attractive! I was a generally happy, shy child, but tortured -- children can be so cruel when it comes to making fun of people -- for anything, not just fat. I guess most people with my neurotic personality grow up to become actors or comedians (and believe me, I tried!), but compounding this constant need for affection was a constant need for food. Gee, maybe I was substituting food for love.
You think?Well, as an adult, I went through years of psychotherapy and counseling to try to get to the root of my weight problem, to no avail. Okay, so maybe I use food to soothe myself. Maybe it's a substitute for love. Maybe it's to fill whatever void exists. But the bottom line is no matter what the problem, I gotta stop eating! And it doesn't seem to help, knowing why I eat. It's not a "will" thing. I am compelled to eat, and I think it's more than a mental thing. I think my body is demanding it somehow. Whether it's a lack of neurotransmitters (Dr. Hitzig's diagnosis -- he's the guy who started the Phen-Fen thing), or just cravings, it doesn't matter. I have to stop. Somehow, some way. You just can't really know the heartache of being fat, unless you are fat.
It's not just the cruelty of people who make fun of you. Yeah, that's bad, but even if children didn't stare and point, or just say "you're FAT" to your face, or the 7-11 clerk didn't mistake you for the second pregnant woman in line, and ask (with all good intentions, of course) "So, when are YOU due?" (and yes, these have both happened to me), there are physical limitations that "normal" people can't begin to know...
You can't fit into seats on amusement park rides. I haven't ridden a ride with my son since he was a toddler. I just don't fit (the bar won't come down, or the seat belt won't go around). Oh, and speaking of seat belts, do you know how embarrassing it is to get into someone's car, and their seat belt won't buckle, because it just won't stretch far enough to go around you? Don't start me on air travel -- what an embarrassment! Not only do I not always fit into the seat (I sometimes have to raise the arm rest, and hope I don't have anyone next to me), but I normally have to ask for a seat belt extender (you know, those pieces of belt they use to demo the pre-flight instructions), I can't lower the tray (it hits my belly and stops at a 45-degree angle), and God help me if I have to go to the bathroom, because I just can't! I don't fit, and the last time I was able to squeeze myself into one of those sardine cans of a lavatory (the 80's sometime), I couldn't reach down and wipe myself! And, yes, that is a problem for fat people, even in regular bathroom facilities. You have to understand, fat people have to reach around this huge ass or stomach, and often just can't reach themselves to wipe. Sad, but true. If the person is physically able to reach, but the stall isn't wide enough for them to contort themselves into the necessary position, well, too bad. I haven't gone in a regular stall for years -- I wait, if I have to, for the handicapped stall. I could go on -- but I think you get the picture.
Well, the story of how I found out about my final solution follows. Interesting? Maybe, maybe not. Helpful? Hopefully! I know I would have felt a whole lot better knowing everything that someone else had gone through, I hope it helps someone. It's sure been therapeutic writing it...
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