Mini’s Dangerous Curves (3)
On this Friday night, once again sitting on the couch, watching talk shows, and eating, I wonder how much I will have to change in order for my entire life to evolve. Looking around the room, everything is so amplified with the familiar.
The aforementioned Elvis plates, aged drapes and carpet, along with the perfect divan on the far left couch cushion in the shape of my enhanced rear end, letting all who enter know where my preferred seat is. Grandma’s stereo cabinet Hi-Fi, complete with record player AND 8 track tape deck (she keeps the vinyls and 8 track tapes on the shelf in her closet…so no one who visits is tempted to help themselves, according to her) stands proudly under the front picture window by the front door, pictures of family and lazy clowns mingle along the upper, open walls.
Grandma keeps house pretty well; nothing is messy or cluttered. But still, as I seem more encouraged to delve further into this “self” journey of mine…everything is far too familiar to me and somehow I know, I just KNOW…this part of my life will have to change too in order to truly find what I’m looking for.
I saw in the paper a new meeting opening up at the college; I have a few weeks to decide (code for: convince myself) whether I’d like to attend. OA. Overeaters Anonymous. Its background being so simple the idea in and of itself sparks fear in me. I know, fear? Yes. FEAR. For these very precious and explicit reasons: I don’t have to talk when I eat. I don’t have to look anyone in the eye and take responsibility for my size 22 jeans or 3x shirts.
And though to the thin and pristine it may seem incomprehensible; my biggest fear of all is the answer to this question: Will I find that it was easier to blind myself to the ogling eyes of those around me as I ordered that food, than it will be to stand up in a roomful of strangers *even if they are there for something I’m there for* and admit that in the whole of my life, I have control and lack of control over just one thing…food.
Strange to put that on the idea that I would HAVE control over food when my roundness would suggest obviously otherwise. But this is my point-I have never had any reason to control anything else in my life. I have always felt helpless in every other capacity, EXCEPT when it comes to food.
I mean realistically I can have whatever food I want. Pizza. Burgers. Ice cream. Chips. Gravy. Cheese. Anyway I want it. Pepperoni. Extra sauce. Mint chocolate chip. BBQ chips dipped in sour cream. Brown gravy with potatoes. String, sliced Sharp cheddar, provolone with salami. Anytime I want it. Midnight. 2 am. 10 am. 2 pm. 6, 7, 8, 9 am OR pm. Does this NOT represent complete control? By the same token, I also know I have no boundaries and no willpower which is therefore an exercise in complete LACK of control. The question now is, am I strong enough to face what brought me here? OA could be the catalyst to my success or the brick that sinks me. I guess the GOOD news is, I can’t possibly get any lower than a size 22 jeans or 3x shirt…the bad news is they make size 24 jeans and 4x shirts.
OA meeting. What will I do? How can I walk into that meeting without throwing up? How am I going to cope? Well, I don’t HAVE to go. It’s not like someone’s taken away all of my personal decision-making. Yeah, I’m not bound to go; I have rights. What if I just don’t want to go? What will other people think if I do go? I mean, who cares if I’m chunky? Shouldn’t people like me for me? What if…and as I think about this, I hear myself and think about the other people in my life and where they come in.
Ma isn’t any different today than yesterday or 20 years ago. Still drinking and running around and out on responsibility. In fact, now I’m the one she comes to for money. Grandma Masha doesn’t approve of course but holds her tongue, saying only one time, “If you don’t stand up to her she will never stop. And when you get tired of her she will make it your fault. Your mother needs to grow up the hard way. You’ve paid for her long enough with more than cash.” I know Ma will never get it, she often tells me how fat I am and asks whatever happened to the skinny bean pole she gave birth to. No support at all from that one. I have Grandma, and she’d love to see me happy and healthy. Totally counting on Grandma to back me up.
I have a few friends at work. I could broach the subject, maybe make it a “group” activity idea…uh yeah, never mind about that. Although I know, I could talk about it…I know I won’t. I’m already the hefty girl. I don’t want to be the hefty girl with open dreams of grandeur of finding her “inner thin girl”. I want them to laugh with me, not at me.
Signing out for now,