passion...schmassion

Day 10008: Residual self-image

"I picture myself, ten years down the line, balding, ironing in a wife-beater tank top that barely covers my beer belly, cigarette in my mouth, beer in hand, yelling at the kids."

Yeah, and I'll have a short frizzy perm, wear sweats all day, and drive the kids to Kumon, english tutoring and piano lessons. Oh, and I'll be fat. So I'll have bad hair, bad clothes, bad body image and probably devilish fat boring kids to boot. My future looks eff'ing F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C... and that's if I even manage to have kids at all... because honestly, who's going to love a bitchy fat sloppy slob like me.

I'm not smart enough, I'm not skinny enough, I'm not pretty enough... most of the time it doesn't bother me. For all my "positive" outlook, I've had self-esteem "issues" for years. I question myself day after day, have moments of extreme self-doubt, have minor moments of semi-confidence, and so the cycle goes. I thought I had conquered my problem, and defeated my demons until last night when I was running from store to store in Fairview Mall trying to find new work clothes for the new monkeyco.

Shopping makes me want to cry. Throw an honest-to-goodness temper tantrum, collapse to the ground in righteous fury, pound my fists on the floor, and scream to the heavens demanding an answer from the supreme beings up above.

It's nasty, hot, sweaty business. Trying on pair after pair after pair of pants after pants after pants... X doesn't fit because the waistband is too high, Y doesn't fit because the waist is too loose, Z's crotch is too tight, W's crotch is too loose, RST makes you look short, fat, dumpy...etc. etc. etc. Then there's the shirts and the tops... your arms are too fat, your bra squishes your bacon-back fat, you look hideous, that's not your flipping colour, you look short, you look dumpy, you look fat... you're just plain deformed...

Hours later, I emerge from the battle, victorious because the outing was minorly successful (2 suits, 3 pairs of pants, 2 sleeveless turtle necks, and 5 shirts for the low, low price of $500 CDN), but defeated because the same demoralizing, paralyzing demons I thought I had overcome resurfaced during the epic trip. As it does every time I go shopping for clothing.

Two years of effort. I lost 50 pounds, gained back 15, look better than I did two years ago. Look slightly worse than I did one year ago. Feel better than I did two years ago. Feel slightly better than I did one year ago. Feel slightly worse than I did half a year ago. And the downfall... a giant "Get Well Soon" chocolate cake and a can of whipped cream. Turning point for the worse, but still a good memory. A winter of greasy, oily burritos and carb-heavy foods didn't help any either.

And now it's almost summer. Time when the "boardwalk" is packed with toned, tanned, nymph-like bodies. Me and my pale, sun-starved jelly-flop arms just don't compare. If we were playing "which of these things don't belong" you'd shoot me first.