[fat] confessions on my own scars, stretch marks, and hairiness

giangie.tumblr.com

My first surgery scars came in high school from putting my shoulder back together after a weird overuse accident. (labral tear-- the tissue that holds the ball and socket in place was torn from the bone) After being misdiagnosed for eight months the three one-inch-long scars felt like battle scars. A year later I had a breast reduction, three pounds and some drainage tubes later I’ve got almost two feet of faint pink scars. I have yet to meet a man who noticed my scars until about a month of pillow talk later… it’s been quite the confidence booster. My other surgery scars are from having my appendix plucked out a few years after that. The scars are consistent with an ovary removal, but luckily it was my appendix that was infected and dying instead. The surgical scars could almost count as battle scars -- except my belly and boobs have faced no trauma.


All along my arms and legs are bug bites. Ants and mosquitoes for the most part, but the occasional family of chiggers or no-see-ums will try to take up residence under a flip flop strap. Many bites have scabbed over, and some have finally left smooth purple discolorations. I haven’t shaved my legs in over four years -- thighs in over six. Luckily the hair is rather blonde and thin, so I don’t need to worry about shaving over bug bites and opening up scabs. I’ve also got my fair share of old scraped knees and shins from work as well as my years of tree climbing and mud pie pancake making in the back yard. Additionally, no guy has noticed my leg hair until I've actually pointed it out to him. Women on occasion have noticed the leg hair.


[cranky] "useless dependent"

I am the useless 23 year old dependent. I cannot find a job, and I'm not looking hard enough. Sometimes when the primary breadwinner loses their job, the child steps up and becomes the primary bread winner. Why hasn't that happened?

Why can't I be more dedicated to filing out dozens of online applications, and even more walk-in local applications? Why am I so disheartened by my lack of application response that I don't want to keep filling out applications? I can count on one hand the number of times I've received a response from a potential employer letting me know they're no longer interested and have found their person. I feel like I'm screaming out into a vast wasteland, and my voice has become hoarse. No one wants me to serve their burgers or stock their shelves. No one wants me to be their administrative assistant. Despite over seven years of employee and volunteer management, no one wants me to oversee a single person or task.

Every time I think we've made up, and I just start to get comfortable again with my father, this comes up. I'm not pulling my weight, I'm only getting more depressed. I'm able to pay my car insurance and student loan payments but not my phone or my medical bills and prescriptions.

I do something wrong, and then my sister or mother does something royally mean and evil-hearted to him, and his only outlet for anger is me.

Yes, I have applied for a job today. No, only one job. I've done more job research, but that doesn't really count.

I want to wait tables for drunk sloppy gross men for $2.13 an hour; I want to mop floors and take out trash for $7.25 an hour; I want to pay all of my bills and pay rent. I don't know what to do. I just can't keep doing this.

[cranky] so broke, so pissed

I can literally feel a stabbing pain in my chest. My two $25 birthday giftcards are gone. Who has been in the house since I recieved them? Realtors, prospective house buyers, my good friend "J," and my old high school friend and new friend-without-benefits "Jack." About a month or two ago I had a disappearing cash meltdown -- was Jack going through bags, to find my purse, to find my wallet, to take cash?! Twice? No way. Has Jack managed to walk off with giftcards that had been tucked away? Is that what he was doing instead of cleaning the kitchen after he made midnight dinner a few nights ago?

Previously the thief was my younger sister -- stealing keys, making copies, and sneaking in while we were at work to steal cash and sell-able anxiety meds (usually klonopin). I feel like the biggest fool letting someone into my home and having money disappear. There is $5.05 in my purse right now, all in coins. That's all I have. Along with no job and a student loan payment due in 7 days.

My sister has Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). She was diagnosed when she was 17. There is a list of 9 "symptoms"/behaviors and you have to have 5 to get your gold star... she has all 9. Very briefly... she was drugged and raped at age 14 setting her off into a downward spiral of shit; by 15 she had admitted to us that she was drinking heavily since nearly age 13 and she also thought she had a miscarriage without actually having had sex; by 16 she had her first tattoo out of a pay-by-the-hour motel and was dating a 31 year old man with 4 kids from 4 different moms; at 17 I took away her PTI freebie and she had to be processed at the state prison after she stole my identity and all of my money while I was out of the country, she was a member of the Crips, got checked back into the psych ward, and skipped town for several months with my mom (to this day, I'm not sure where they went), after they came back in town she was checked into a residential outdoor rehab center and was their longest ever patient-- turning 18 at the facility and choosing to stay. By age 19 she accused me of molesting her repeatedly as children, and now at 20 I'm forbidden from being in the same building as her, per my mother and grandmother's orders. J has seen her out at bars several times, and she's going to be 21 in a few months. She's claimed to be an alcoholic since she was 15, and now she's regularly drinking and driving and the only person that could possibly stop her is my mother who is afraid of running her off. She is capable of constructing entirely alternate realities, alternate stories, events, persons and then believing them whole-heartedly.

Despite my father and therapist telling me otherwise, I feel like the ultimate dumb shit for allowing money to walk out of my house. I know better. I know the signs, I know what to look for. I let my guard down, and I feel like an idiot. I think there's some chocolate box cake mix in the cabinet I can make, so I can save that $5.05 for something... no clue what...

[feminist] abortion stories

Its time to end the shame and stigmas associated with abortions. To add your story, email me or message me on Facebook.

Emily
I was 18 years old and a senior in high school. I had recently lost a lot of weight within the past year and a half and I started getting attention for a lot of different boys. I met a boy that was in the military. He became my very first boyfriend. We had a very fast relationship. We dated for a month but since he was my first boyfriend I was completely delusionally in love with him. Even though we broke up I'd still travel hours up to his duty station to spend time with him and we continued to sleep together. We saw each other last around the end of December. We remained to talk over the phone. I found out that I was pregnant in February. I told him about it and he immediately demanded that I have an abortion because it would ruin his future career. Funny enough, his family is very conservative and very catholic and yet he was telling me to get an abortion. I knew it was the right thing to do. He offered me no support in the process though, so I kept completely quiet about the situation. At around 14 weeks I decided to cut off contact with him and had an abortion. Was it a hard decision? Yes. Was it the right one? For me yes. I was a senior in high school and I would be a single mom. There was no need to try to raise a child in hostility. It was pretty much painless and I went along my life. To this day he's never said a word about it and continues to be a shitty person but that's on him. Today, I'm a strong woman that is married and has a beautiful little girl. I know for a fact I wouldn't be married, be as happy as I am nor be the person I am today if I hadn't had an abortion. I volunteer with various women's rights groups. I have counter protested 'pro-life' groups outside Planned Parenthoods by myself that have tried to shame me in my decision. But I am not ashamed, not a bit.

[Fat] progress?

Progress is a long long journey. I feel that I've been making progress in terms of both my mental health (depression, anxiety) and my personal acceptance of my body ever since I came back from Ghana. Mental health has had two big hurdles/setbacks in the last year, but I've honesty never felt better about my body than I do these days. However, this week has been incedibly hard. My sister has been struggling for the last two weeks, she took it out on my father, and he took it out on me.
So I'm taking it out on the blog.
Have you ever written a hate-note to yourself? For years I used to just write "fat ugly stupid" and leave it in my underwear drawer or the corner of my desk so that my parents or roommate could never find it. I haven't written one in ages, but I did a few days ago... its almost funny, almost, that this time I wrote "too fat."
I know this is all part of being human. But it hurts so much. And waking up in the morning to find my note the next day just threw me back down again. I have to remember that we are all human, and I am not alone in this. And that if you have ever been here, you are not alone either. It takes time to make progress. And we're here together to make that journey.

[cranky] roadtrippin' to sanity

Confession: at the last minute in May I found out that I wasn't graduating, by one class-- my senior research. This set off a genuine mental and emotional spiral, my father came up and packed me and my things into my car and took us home for me to lay in bed in total shock for two weeks. My therapist and I have been trying a new med, with no improvements on my ability to get out of bed before 5p, and the aching joints and muscles which made it easier to validate laying down all day despite the fact that that was the problem. Three months later, waiting for my school district arts program to get funding so I could return to work, I realized that I had no choice but to attempt a 180-- applying for a waitress job, joining a gym, contacting school, and finally just throwing my things into the car and driving up. I made the drive in record time-- afraid that if I stopped I would turn around. The registrar, provost, student support, etc were overwhelmingly supportive and kind in a way that I never saw for the last two years that I've been working with them. I'll be taking a long distance course so I don't have to be on campus. I saw my old fling for the two evenings, reminding myself what it feels like to be a very satisfied woman. Last night I drove to Louisville to stay with my best girlfriend from elementary school for a few days before I head home, and then to the DNC. Its the clearest I've thought in nearly a year, and I'm happy and satisfied. How wonderful :)

[fat] a new diet begins

I've joined weight watchers this week. The online food diary from last semester helped me figure out what I should and shouldn't eat, but somehow weight watchers feels more legitimate?

I have metabolic syndrome, meaning that I have elevated cholesterol, elevated blood sugar, a slow metabolism, elevated blood pressure, and a knack for not ever being able to lose weight. The carrots and hummus diet did nothing. The protein water diet did nothing. So now I'm on to the most legitimate thing I can find online. I weighed in this week at a whopping 220.5 pounds. Standing at just 5 feet and 6 inches tall when I bother to stand straight, my BMI tells me that I'm obese, and that my ideal weight is 125-155. That's 65.5 pounds to lose. And according to my doctor if I don't lose it, I'll be diabetic just like my grandmother. I inherited the huge boobs and bad blood, way to go.