FAT

All my life I have had my body scrutinized. Throughout my upbringing my father would tease me, and warn me that I was headed for obesity just like my mother and all of his sisters. Any foray into the kitchen would earn me some sort of sidewise glance or comment. My step mother even got in on the "abuse." As I would walk by her in shorts she would stop me and scrutinize the stretch marks behind my knees. She would also mark the jug of Kool-Aid/Juice to monitor my intake. She would even go so far as to hide food---as if I was some sort of glutinous eating machine. Mind you, at no point in my life have I ever been over weight. In fact, I have always been quite slender---not skinny mind you, as I have always considered my self thick, but never skinny.

Anyway, as I progressed through puberty, things got even worse. My dad would comment on how I was all "ass" and flat-chested. It was bad enough being teased at home, but then I had to hear it at school too. Apparently my "nappy" hair was of great public offense. So needless to say, I developed a few body image complexes, and as a result I decided that food was the enemy—I quit eating for a while, and that my hair was hopeless. As I grew into womanhood these complexes were hard pressed to shake. I had to accept the fact that I would never be the girl with the legs that just didn't quit, I would never be the girl with boobs worth noticing, and I would never be the girl with the corn-silk hair that people love to run their fingers through. But I was the girl with the cut butt! Ahhh, small victories!

Any way, my weight and figure however still for some odd reason was a subject of great interest for my family. Anytime I spoke to my father, step-mother, or aunts or cousins---everyone was more interested in how much I weighed rather than how I was doing. WTF!!! It's as if my importance was determined by the scale. Apparently, I'm some ticking time bomb waiting to explode into a glob of gelatinous goo.

So anyhow, I joined the Air Force. In the military physical fitness is a vested interest. In order to promote, as well as go on certain assignments you have to be physically fit or at least the number on the scale had to fall within the set standards. I did everything I could to ensure that my number was at the low end of the spectrum—at least the first half of my six year enlistment. When year four came around I put on a few extra pounds. I went from 135lbs (basic training exit weight) to 155 lbs (the max allowance for my height 5'5) by November of year four I found myself weighing 165lbs. I went home for Thanks giving, and the only thing my father could talk about was how fat I had gotten, and that I needed to hurry up and find a husband before it was tooo late. Nice~

When I got back from my lovely family Thanksgiving visit, I decided that it was time to take some serious action---obviously I was hideously obese. So, I found a little drug call Ephedra! Boy did it work! I lived off of Slim fast and Uncle Ben's rice/noodle bowls, I spent three hours in the gym just about every day, and I went from 165lbs to 130lbs in 3 months. I went back home in April, and now my father acted displeased at all the weight I had lost. He asked questions like, "What happened to you did you get sick or something?" He then speculated to my sister that he thought I was anorexic. I can't win for losing! I continued to take Ephedra until they banned it and pulled the product from the shelves. After that, I quit working out as hard, and my weight then plateaued at around 145-150lbs.

It was at this weight that I started dating my husband. Actually, I was 155 lbs to be exact. He had seen me around the gym when I was going through my gym rat ephedra induced phase---I guess he thought that I actually liked being there. Anyway, a year later I got out of the air force, and gained 10 lbs. I was unemployed living at home with my parents, away from all my friends, finishing up the last to semester of college on-line, while my future husband completed a year long tour in the Middle East. Once my future husband returned, I left everything behind, jumped on a plane with 2 small suitcases to start a brand new life with him in beautiful Alaska! This time I left behind all family and friends, all my household goods, clothes, pets, and any prospects for continuing in my chosen career field. So I gained 10 more pounds. I tipped the scales at 175 lbs, but damn if I didn't still look good!!! I felt good---I was depressed-yes- at being unemployed, away from loved ones, and unmarried, but overall I didn't have a terrible body image. Then things started to change.

My future husband helped my find a job, I made friends, I got married, and then I got pregnant. I gained 10 more lbs. At roughly 8 weeks I miscarried, but I still have not lost the weight, so now I weigh in at around 180-185 lbs. Shortly, after my D & C. I started going to the gym again---aerobic workout to get my mind off things---and my husband off my back---as he certainly has expressed his dissatisfaction with my weight---oh I'm sorry, he likes to say my health.

After a week and a half of daily aerobic and strength training exercise, I realized I was not quite healed from the D & C, and was in serious discomfort, and even spotting. So I quite the gym, and decided to take it easy. A week off turned into a month. I still have yet to return. And every time my husband comments on it---it just ENRAGES me. I mean the second he brings it up. I have tried to explain that I just can not talk about it with him. I have told him time and time again that my weight and body image are very sensitive to me, and he is very insensitive about it. He's made rude remarks and jokes, has even poked and prodded, grabbed and shook my fat, visually inspected me while naked---it's degrading. While he claims he meant only to motivate me, he has to see that it is hurtful and rude. Therefore, I made a decision not to discuss that topic with him---PERIOD. I explained to him that the subject was off limits. It is my body and my life. He quickly replied that it was OUR lives, and he had the right to choose how long he stayed with my body---I agreed.

The bottom line is that I will go to the gym when I want to go to the gym! I will ONLY do it for me, not for anyone else. Call me a control freak, but if there's one thing I like to be in control of it's MY body, and even in that regard I know there some things about it that I can't change. Every time I get close to going, "You know self, you really ought to get back in the gym—it really is time. I think I'll go next week!" My husband opens his mouth and ruins it….because that illogical spiteful/rebellious nerve in me ticks and says "NO! I'll do it on my terms, not YOURS!!!" Yes, I know it's stupid…we both want the same thing….but I can't help it. I don't want to be in the gym busting my ass resenting him for my being there. So here I am….I think I need to be on medication or something.