I’ve wasted many years of my life and countless opportunities thinking other people were better than me or more worthy because they’re thinner. One of the insights I’ve got since losing weight is that that thinner doesn’t make you better, it doesn’t make your opinions more worthy and it sure as hell doesn’t make you more interesting.
There is no great cosmic scorecard that rates you on your clothing size or the colour of your skin or the prettiness of your face. We’re all in this place, trying to survive and rise above the muck.
Maybe being stick thin is an asset if you want to be a supermodel or a prima ballerina, but it doesn’t make you a better accountant or a better computer programmer or a better writer. It sure as hell doesn’t make you a better person.
It can change the way you relate to the world – you take on the fat persona. You become the peace maker or the pleaser or the angry fat girl. You feel like you have to work harder for acceptance, you feel like you have be more grateful when you are accepted. What a load of shit!
We’re all multifaceted people. No one is perpetually cheerful and putting on a happy face to cover up your true feelings just causes that whole cycle of repressing feelings then overeating. How much more satisfying is it to tell someone to go fuck themselves when they deserve than to simmer away then scoff a family sized dairy milk in secret.
So last night I had a weird dream. I won’t go into great detail, other people’s dreams are rarely interesting, but I dreamt about a guy, someone I had a huge crush on it must be well over 15 years ago now. He was a good friend but never anything more, then he moved overseas and I never saw him again. Unrequited love is interesting in stories but a real bore in real life.
I’ve been trying to make sense of this dream – I haven’t thought about this guy in years and years – and I felt like the dream had to mean something. That’s what everything tells us – books, television, movies. Dreams are signs.
Since I woke up, I’ve been wondering if I’ve been harbouring feelings for him all these years, that there’s something there, buried deep down inside. I’ve thought about it and realised that it’s definitely not true. I’ve not even thought about him for years. In reality, if we’d got together it would never have lasted. I think he’d have driven me insane and I’d have brained with a rock within weeks. It’s amazing how we believe something is true because thats what we see on tv. There are no feelings, nothing at all. Still, if I run into him while I’m out shopping today, I’ll have a fit.