Disconnection Notice

I’ve been feeling disconnected the last couple of days. Perhaps it’s because I do a lot of life online: in a digital format, far from anything tangible. Or maybe it’s because some things have been changing around me and I’m not handling it as well as I’d like to. I’ve worked out that as you get older, change is harder to handle and far more disruptive than when you are in your nubile twenties. Change is complicated. Change hurts. Change confuses.

And there’s been some changes in my home life, in my friendships, in my status quo. And just in case, that hasn’t been enough, I’ve been dieting. I know. Shame on me. After point blank refusing to diet ever again, here I am, dieting. I began on the Lite N Easy diet. Nice food. Very cookie cutter. High carbs. But after a while, your mouth begs for something to chew, rather than something to reheat in the microwave.

I’ve also discovered I’m pre-diabetic in the last fortnight. So I switched to the Diet Factory. They do diabetic, gluten free, weird taste habits. They do it all. Their food feels fresher, more hand-made. And tiny. Much much tinier than Lite N Easy. I asked them about it and they said it’s because they aren’t trying to fill people up on carbs but rather to give higher taste to their food.

So despite my determination to not get trapped into old habits, here I am, again, obsessing on food. Binge-ing on food again. Starving myself for hours because I’m not hungry and then ravenously eating enough to feed a small country. And even as I type this, I realise I’m still doing it. I’m still thinking about, writing about food. And about being fat. I have to stop it. I have to just accept that this is the body I have. That perhaps the person I see when I close my eyes is the fake me, and that this person (that everybody else can see) is really the real me. It’s so disjointed when in your head you are a size 12-14 (although I’ve NEVER been that small) and then wake up and see a size 26 in the mirror. Every day. Every day, I wake up disconnected from what I look like. And it has to stop. I have to accept that this is what everybody else sees.

This is the body that doesn’t fit in the movie theatre seats. This is the body that requires a seat belt extender in an airplane (and truth be told, it needs a second seat as well). This is the body that can’t go to concerts because I don’t fit. This is the body that determines what house we can rent by the size and width of the room that holds the toilet.

Tonight, in a moment of reflection, I tried to very carefully not say any of this to Sharon. Instead I said “so you know. i’m fat. i gotta deal with it”. Never mind the enormous amounts of anguish and defeatism I feel when I say those words. No matter that I have two enormous tears rolling down my cheeks, in shame and frustration, as I type this. Soon after, Sharon went offline to go to bed.

And then, to my surprise, she returned to Skype because she had something to say.

I heard what you said about your being fat and I just have to say…

I’m not one of those people who just likes everybody. I’m discriminating and kind of grumpy. I know a shit when I see one. And I know who I value.

You are smart and you are funny. You are warm and you are caring. You are brave and you are strong. I feel privileged that you are my friend.

And…you are totally beautiful… I love to see your smiling face. It was just a joy to see all of you at your party. You are very, very special.

Thanks for being such a lovely friend.

You are really special. Anyone who has spoken to you would value you.

You are different. And your weight is nothing. Nothing!

I didn’t want to let today finish without telling you what I think. This is how much I care…Just burned my fucking eggs.

Sharon may never know how much I appreciated her words. I have held them in my mind, rotated them, felt them, put my brain inside each of the letters, examining them. And I know she is right. I know I have a lot to offer. I know that I DO offer a great deal to a number of people. I know I have value. I know she felt I was worth burning eggs for. (And trust me, I wouldn’t have burned eggs for her! I love my eggs too much! LOL) I just need to find a way to align how I look with who I am.

She says my weight is nothing. Nothing! How do I believe that, act upon that? How do I take this one part of my life that has dictated my life’s path and claim it to mean nothing?

I don’t know. But I do know that what Sharon wrote are fingers of tenderness and kernels of truth, hope and love. I know that their tendrils will somehow reach out and curl around my soul and help me learn and grow and accept. I know that by posting them here, I will always be reminded how late one night, when she was cooking eggs, I was more important than anything else. I mattered. I do matter. And size didn’t matter.

Except for the size of our hearts.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Tom
    Apr 13, 2011 @ 08:20:57

    You have such a big and amazing heart December, I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world! I know we have never met in person, but someday I plan to remedy that … and I know when I get there that I will be welcomed by your amazing smile! People spend too much time focusing at what a person is on the outside that they never get to see the gleeming squishy center! Well I like your “squishy center” …. and I love everything about you! =)

    Reply

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