fat

Maybe not every day, but maybe every second day, I think how my life would be different (aka awesome) if I was thin. Like naturally thin, with a stomach that was taut and made a satisfying snare drum snap noise when I would flick it. How many hours of my life have I squandered thinking these thoughts? How many pictures of myself do I love vs how many I hate? 

As much as I think every person looks better with contacts rather than glasses, especially on their wedding day (because they don't make formal glasses; they just don't), I think every girl looks better less ten pounds. Or 40.

My elementary school idols: Betty and Veronica's impossible wasp waists and Sweet Valley High's size 6 blond twins in sweater sets and Linda Evangelista's hollowed cheeks swanning out from the cover of Vogue. Oh boy did I curse the lumpy lines of my legs, the inverted triangles, the thigh fat that would rub together to a dull red burn that I more than once thought about hacking off with a dull kitchen blade.

Yes, I did once starve myself for a year when the Vancouver Grizzlies were an NBA team and I would eat a tootsie roll for dinner so I could be lightheaded and not actually be present in life because when your body is breaking itself down to survive you have no energy left for fear (or love or ambition or education or empathy), but you still self-obsess like a cat licking that one spot on it's back, one leg awkwardly akimbo, neck craned dramatically and eyes crazed and wild.

Like a tick burrowed deep under your skin, once you have a "relationship" with food, you never get over it. Sure, with good drugs, good doctors, friends and family that shake you back to life and a good amount of time, you can lead a good life that you like. But that voice in your head that you excised, like a squirming wet demon, left its mark - long streaks of loathing and silliness that scar your head's hallways like the sickest graffiti you’ve ever seen.

So, you say it all out loud, type each word out and watch them fall. And you hope like hell your little girl, the most perfect human being you’ve ever seen and held tight enough to sniff the smell right out of her tight pungent neck crevices, oh you hope like you’ve never hoped before that she never ever thinks the way you think.