The Art of Humiliation

As a preface I'm not "avoiding" my last post, I'm just taking my sweet time getting to a point when I can discuss any/all that was dredged up as a result/precursor to my most recent update. In the meantime, I've got a few thoughts to share.

I've finally begun my "new job" at a home improvement store and because of their dress-code I found myself in need of some new clothing. More to the point, I need new clothes because the only things that fit me are stretchy "athletic-wear" types of clothing, which are strictly prohibited. I can squeeze into a few pairs of pants, but they aren't exactly comfortable and they don't allow for the best movement and I need to be able to move as I'm a cashier. Ordinarily a cashier might be just a "standing" position, but for this job it's definitely not (and I'm glad!) so I need appropriate clothing.

Polo shirts and khakis seemed like the best bet and would suit me for many uses beyond "work clothes" as they are basic enough to be worn in a variety of settings. When I first started my job, my mom and I went to a Meijer (like a smaller-scale Wal-Mart) to pick up some basics that would not break the bank. I had no pretenses, I went to the plus-sized department and got some size 18, size 20, and size 22 pants; I also picked up a few shirts that were XXL, which usually are a bit loose on me or fit "just right," in my opinion.

I walked into the dressing room, feeling rather indifferent, and then I realized I couldn't get ANY of the pants to even begin to go over my lower hips/thighs... when I squeezed into one of the XXL shirts (I'd gotten the same shirt in multiple colors) it literally fit me like a medium and looked horrible. I don't know how I managed to fit into it, though I did have a heck of a time getting out of it. Needless to say, nothing came close to working so I walked out and the girl at the main counter for the dressing rooms said, "I can take anything that you don't want or that doesn't fit" and I handed her EVERYTHING. She looked a bit startled and then said, "Oh, one of those days, huh?" Yeah... Don't get me wrong, even though she didn't strike me as a girl to have to worry about having "those days" very often I knew she didn't mean it in some snotty "Lose the weight, FATTY" way. In any case, it was still incredibly humiliating -- even my mom looked quite a bit crestfallen.

Let's be realistic, though, it's a no-brainer to say I've had plenty of days where I tried on things that didn't quite fit or looked terrible or wouldn't zip/button as they should, but that was one of the WORST experiences I've ever had in a dressing room. Not a single thing came close to fitting and I'd "aimed high" -- I might have expected snugness, but not that. I felt defeated and very, very fat.

The next weekend I spent the last of my money on two items from Target, a denim skirt (that I wear with leggings because I can't wear skirts without my legs rubbing together uncomfortably) and a pair of khaki-colored bottoms that fall somewhere between capris and Bermuda shorts. They fit, but I can't wear the skirt too often as it's a fairly memorable piece of clothing when worn as I have to wear it, and when I'm working 8 days in a row (as I did last week), wearing the same khaki shorts every day is not going to do. They're both size 22 and they go well with my Men's polo shirts that I'd gotten from Meijer (after the humiliating encounter with the Women's department).

I know I'm not the only woman to struggle with these issues and that's why I write this, because I know so many women -- regardless of whether they're an 8 or an 18 -- go into a store never knowing if they're going to leave feeling like a heifer or a hottie. Why do stores, manufacturers, designers, want us all to feel so horrible about ourselves? Why do they want to shame us? It's frustrating enough to actually be overweight and struggle with finding clothes, but it's even more frustrating to know that all these people WANT it to be a struggle, want me to feel shame, want me to dress like a dishrag...

When I was a teenager (probably 14 or 15) I was in a Wal-Mart with my mom, trying on some jeans, and I'd had to upgrade from the Juniors department to the Women's department. I'd tried on a few pairs of pants and one particular pair looked good -- my mom asked me what size they were and I said, completely serious, "18 Wide." She was confused for a second and then started laughing hysterically and I couldn't figure out why. She then explained that "18 W" meant Women's size 18, not 18 in Wide. Oops, classic mistake, but in my defense I figured it was like shoe sizes -- a 10 W is a 10 Wide! Besides, isn't that how the stores want us to feel? We're not women, we're wide.

I also remember the first time I went into Lane Bryant, it wasn't much after that 16 Wide moment and I remembering thinking it was QUITE a bit more expensive. We went in their because I needed something to wear to my grandpa's funeral and my mom had suggested it because she thought we might have better luck, which we needed as we were running low on time. We went in and the sales people were so nice -- they didn't make me feel inadequate or as though I shouldn't be shopping there -- though they did inform me that I was NOT a size 16 or size 18. At Lane Bryant... I was a size 14!!! Or, as they said, "the smallest size we carry!" It's as if they knew how defeated I felt, how as a teenage girl I struggled with feeling like the fat cow in a sea of lithe cheerleaders, and they did their best to make me feel okay about myself. For the first time in my life I felt the way a girl should feel when she walks into a store: good. beautiful. worthy.

Now, a size "22 Wide" at one store, I haven't felt that way in a long time and I know it's no sales associates fault, it's my own.

- - - - -

 "In order to change we must be sick and tired of being sick and tired."

[Author Unknown]

Feeding salt (and ice cream) into the open wounds.

This past week was the epitome of emotional awfulness. I hit rock-bottom, slammed upward from the momentum, only to come crashing back down onto the jagged rocks time and time again.

I had intended to sift through the muckity-muck, to clear out the skeletons in my closet, so that I could better understand the whys and hows of my life as it currently exists. I wanted to dive a bit deeper into issues that were arising as I wrote out my variety of emotions and questions, particularly those expressed here; I thought the experience would be, at most, a cathartic, soulful cleansing of sorts.

Instead of the joyful release that I expected to feel upon unleashing a decades worth of demons, I felt every heartbreak, every gut-stabbing moment of pain, every ounce of regret and guilt. Every moment of wrong was relived as I navigated myself through the maze of all the unhealthy relationships that I have witnessed and all the unhealthy relationships I've been a part of in my life.

One moment I'd be fine, the next I was sitting on the shower floor, water pouring down me, as I was choking out sobs and trying to wrap my mind around something I've been avoiding for so long. I'd be fine again, thinking I'm getting it all under control, then I'm in my car headed back to my apartment and a super-personal song comes on the radio that has me bawling and trying to wipe tears off my face as quickly as possible so I can see the road...

I was absolutely desperate to talk to someone about all the guilt, shame, bitterness, confusion, disgust, and just get RID of all the stuff that was being held like a fist full of bile in the back of my throat. I needed to get it out, to clean out my system, but there was no one. The things I needed to let out were so personal that I'd already reduced my potential "supporters" to people I really felt I could trust with such information. The person I most adamantly wanted to talk with was no where around and I don't have his phone number so I had no way of getting in contact with him... His sister was my next effort and she didn't respond to my text message.

My last potential vein of support was to talk with my best friend who I've not been able to talk with about anything personal in quite sometime because she's been so seemingly uninvolved and uninterested in anything that's not her husband or her child. It seemed kismet when she ended up calling me before I could call her, but then all she could talk about was how Steven Tyler was "such a sell-out" because he made a pop album and how he was her "idol" and now she has "no respect" for him because he's "not a 'rocker'" anymore and that a "part of [her] died" because of his being a sellout. She talked for 20 minutes about how this was such a huge disappointment, such a sad day, blah blah blah. Toward the end she picked up on my total lack of interest in the whole (completely stupid) conversation and mistook it for me being "tired."

Lost and alone, I thought I could get myself out of the demon-plagued mind-trap by writing it out here and, hopefully, get some sort of support that I'd been denied for too long last week. Well, wouldn't you know it, when I got online Blogger was down for maintenance and was in read-only mode or some such thing.

I had exhausted every possibility and had been left, as usually, entirely empty-handed. That's why I've always chosen food. That's why I "chose" food again. In the 48 hours my mom was back home in NW Ohio, I ate 6 "party pizzas," 5 large cinnamon rolls, two containers of Edy's ice cream (not the "double-churned" supposedly-healthier variety, either), finished off a container of Nutella, and ate a bunch of almonds for good measure.  I drowned myself in food and soda; in both the sweet and sugary and the salty and savory calories. I kept eating because at least when I was eating I could trick myself into thinking about the food and not the loneliness and the emptiness and the shame of it all. I had no one when I needed someone the most, NO ONE, but I had food.

Now, a few days later, the demons are lingering in a big way, the already stretchy-as-stretchy-can-be clothing are getting tighter, and I still haven't been able to talk to anyone so I just... keep eating. It doesn't seem like it should be this hard; I don't WANT it to be like this, but I'm so tired of facing nothing beyond loneliness and emptiness. Where do I turn when the only thing that's ever constant is food? I'm so mind-numbingly scared of what the future holds if this is the "prime of my life" and I'm this miserable and perpetually locked down by food because there's nobody around to throw me a helping hand to help me help myself pull away from it all.

What do I do? WHAT? I need help, I admit it, I'm ready for the next step, but I need help because I don't know what the next step is and I don't know how to face it alone -- I'm not even sure I can. I just need help.

- - - - -

"One of these days I'm going to love me and feel the joy of sweet release; one of these days I'll rise above me and at last I'll find some peace. Then I'm going to smile a little, and maybe even laugh a little, but one of these days I'm going to love me."

[Tim McGraw; "One of These Days"]

This is some heavy stuff!

A goal I have for myself is to look in the mirror, look into my own eyes, and not feel completely ashamed or begin berating myself for any of a slew of self-ascribed inadequacies. Some days I can do this much more easily than others, but it takes quite a bit of coaching. It's a gratifying moment, though, when I close my eyes and open them again to see a small semi-confident smile on my face.

Despite this goal and the effort I've taken to get there, part of me believes it isn't right for me to be as confident as I have been in days past, while another part of me suspects (or knows?) that it's mostly false bravado. I'm not entirely sure that I've gotten more confident because I think I've just become a better actress -- go figure!

The reason I mention this is because earlier this week I, quite fittingly, stumbled upon a new show featured on A&E, "Heavy," and I admit that in the beginning I was interested only very superficially, but the more I watched the more I realized that every word these people were saying about themselves and their Food Relationships completely fit how I felt. Sure, I don't weigh 400 pounds, but they weren't always so heavy, either. It has to start somewhere and I really think that this could be the "somewhere" for me if something doesn't change soon.

It also caught my attention when, in the second episode, a younger girl (26 years old -- just two-and-a-half years older than I am) was on the show and I could see myself standing in her shoes given a couple of years. She talked about how she acts more confident and upbeat than she really feels so that people won't see her "weakness." She also has an alcohol problem and I know I don't have an alcohol problem (not to the degree she does, anyway), but it doesn't seem to be a coincidence that in the past 3 months I've drank more than I ever have in my entire life...

Two other things really caught my attention about this show: the "enablers" and the people who spot the problem. My life is full of the "enablers," or, as I call them, my family. My family is almost entirely overweight and/or obese people, especially on my dad's side. When our family gets together it's very food-centric and it's incredibly obvious why we all have weight problems! The fact that I'm overweight, then, is not seen as anything out of the ordinary and so no one in my family is going to sit me down and say, "Alana, we've noticed that your eating has gotten out of hand and we'd like to help you get back on track to a healthier lifestyle." In order for THAT to happen they'd have to get their own lives back on track and I just don't see that happening for them because they are so acceptant of it. Overweight is just... how we are, apparently.

Except... it's not how I want to be. I want to be strong enough to resist the temptation my "enablers" throw in front of me holiday after holiday. The thing is, I also want someone to say, "Alana, we've noticed that your eating has gotten out of hand and we'd like to help you get back on track to a healthier lifestyle." I need someone to support me, to notice the fact that I've gained 25 pounds in less than year, to care enough about me to step in and help me navigate through all this "stuff." I don't need someone to say, "Why don't you just go to the gym and lose the weight?" because that's literally like telling someone who is anorexic, "Hey, why don't you just eat something and get over it?" It's a lot more complicated than that in so many ways.

Yes, going to the gym would be a huge step in the right direction, but I am so scared to take that step alone because in the past when I've taken that step alone I failed. I cannot fail again. It's also not the only step that needs to be taken and I need someone to keep me motivated, optimistic, and on the right path. I need someone who truly understands how complicated and deeply-driven these problems are for me, someone who will talk with me without being disgusted and/or appalled when or if I lapse into another binge.

I'm not sure that I have that support though, which is another reason why I'm here. It looks as though I have to be my own support system for a while, or at least until I get away from the "enablers" and find someone who doesn't scoff at obesity or belittle my problem(s) with food. Of course, in order to find that person who will support me, I've got to be willing to share all this with people, but this is just about the most humiliating kind of (heart-breaking, soul-crushing) problem to have to share with anyone and, let's be honest, no one likes to see fat people cry...

- - - - -

"It's not who you are that holds you back, it's who you think you're not."

[Author Unknown]