It’s Hard Out Here for a Wimp

It is HOT being fat. I don’t mean just hard, it’s HOT.

I am one of those unfortunate people who turns beet red and sweats profusely during pretty much any physical activity. When I was kid, it was only soccer that really made that happen, but these days, it’s just about anything. It is especially bad if it’s hot outside.

I just got off the bus and walked 10 minutes…not a hard walk, but when you are carrying around 300 lbs and it’s 28 degrees out (Celsius, that’s 82.4 F for the Americans), it’s HOT.

For some of you who may live more south, that probably doesn’t seem that hot, but let me remind you that this is Canada. Where I live, it can easily get to -40 C (-40 F) in the winter, so going from -40 C to 30 C is a HUGE change that usually happens very, very quickly. Just in April it was cold, wet and snowy…now it’s suddenly sunny and 30 C. I have never been good in the heat anyway, as I have super fair skin that burns with no provocation, but being overweight makes it 100 times worse.

Let’s also mention the clothes. Overweight people are made to feel that they cannot wear shorts, sleeveless tops or (god forbid) bathing suits in public. I think the last time I wore shorts or a sleeveless top in public was probably 15 or so years ago. As a result? I suffer. I sit, drenched in sweat, dying, because I am too self-conscious to wear shorts or sleeveless tops or even a bathing suit in public.

It’s something that I’m working on, caring less about what other people think, but it is, to say the least, very difficult.

Onwards and upwards.

Six Feet Under

Hold me now
I’m six feet from the edge and I’m thinking
Maybe six feet ain’t so far down

Have you ever been so low that, as you drive over a bridge, you envision yourself driving off? I have.

I told the boy. The one that I’m interested in. And guess what. He isn’t. He is dating someone else. Who he likes.

“He’s just a boy.” My friends say. “You’ll find someone.”

He’s not just a boy, though. He is representative of every single person in my life who has ever rejected me. He appears to want to stay my friend, but honestly, that doesn’t matter to me right now. It hurts too much.

I have never, in my adult or teenage life, felt attractive. Perhaps for one fleeting instant I felt pretty in my bridesmaid’s dress for my friend’s wedding, but that went away as soon as I looked at my legs, or my arms, or when people started taking pictures, or when I passed a mirror.

“When you find the one, he won’t care what you look like.” My friends say. “It’s about personality.”

It is. I agree. But there has to be an attraction there too. That’s the way we’re built. And I cannot believe or accept that anyone could ever find me attractive. The girl he likes? She is skinny and pretty. She seems nice, which makes it worse because then I can’t listen to the green monster inside me and hate her guts.

I am so tired of being heartbroken. I am so tired of feeling not good enough. I am so tired of feeling like I am unimportant. I am so tired of being the fat friend with the good personality. I am so tired of being unhappy. I am so tired of feeling worthless and that I am undeserving of love and affection. The older I get, the more difficult it is to believe that a loving relationship is in my future. And it fucking sucks, frankly.

So, those are the moments when you find yourself standing at a crosswalk on a busy road, wondering if maybe you should jump in front of the oncoming semi.