Fat Slut

Today was good. I went to the annual bulb show at a local college with my dad and sister, got a giant pizza slice for lunch and some concert tickets for me and my BFF, and took the dog on a nice walk. All in all a good day.

Then my mom and sister got in a fight at dinner. Which happens, because my sister is seventeen and extra sensitive, and they both stormed off. Dad and I shrugged and kept eating, and Mom came back still mad and decided she needed to snipe at us too for just sitting there. She looked at me and went “Shut up, fat girl.“

And… I had to hold back a laugh. Now, Mom is getting over being sick. She’s always either getting sick, sick, or getting better, but the in-between phases are almost always marked by being incredibly nasty and mean. And apparently the worst thing she could come up with to call me was “fat girl.” And… it truly, honestly didn’t hurt. Yeah, I AM A FAT GIRL. Not a news flash. So I was able to let that roll off me. Now, it’s a sign of how messed up she is that that’s what she goes for, but I’m glad it didn’t bother me.

So my mom came in and asked for some of my chocolate, as she often does. I had a bag with a few Dove pieces in it and offered it to her, and she said she’d take two. “Take all of them, I can just get more.” And she says “You don’t need to get more.”

I had a very mild freakout about that just now, eating the rest that were in the bag before I realized what I was doing. I feel much better when I have junk food around and can self-regulate, when I don’t have to worry about being shamed or scolded like I still get in the kitchen, when I know I can get more and not worry about it. Sometimes I hate living at home.

I finally got a chance to talk to the ballet teacher after class – previously she’s been occupied with other people, and two weeks we didn’t have class (school vacation and then inclement weather) – about my heels not touching. That’s one of the things she corrects me on, usually, not having my heels together in first position. Turns out? It’s not so much my calves of steel or big thighs that prevent my heels from getting close. It’s my knees hyperextending – they actually flex backwards a little when I have my legs straight, which pushes my feet forwards and away from each other in that position. So it’s not about the fat at all. Crazy.

In other news: I HAVE A JOB. It’s only a few hours in the afternoon, but I’m grateful to have it in this economy.

In other other news: (cut for excessive rambling) Read the rest of this entry »