On the Line

We are all worms, But, I do believe, I am a glowworm.-Winston Churchill

I like to think of my life as literature... However, lately it has been more of a Bronte' novel than Jane Austen as I prefer it.

I suppose that while I make my Pizza and read a good book some fear and doubt should creep in.

Last night was difficult to say the least. I've been trying something new: not lying to myself. I've been telling myself for quite some time that I'm the exception not the rule and frankly, this must stop.

After a struggle with anorexia long passed and the weight regain in the works I had decided to learn to love myself. And over the summer this uphill battle had been achieved. I loved my body, size 16 and all and I had learned to love not being wanted by certain people because I believe this weight gain thing has been an asshole filter. Let me explain: Check it out: When I was thin I was bombarded constantly by douchebags advances. I had never experienced this to that level before so I just kind of appreciated for what it was and lived life single because I was afraid of commitment. Is it strange that even though I was thin I still wasn't happy. I wondered at this because through the media I had been taught that happiness could only be achieved when thin. It's not that I wasn't happy with my body. I appreciated for what it was, thin but still pleasantly soft. I didn't mind the catcalling on the street in Chicago or the tools at the bars. I didn't mind any of that, I let it roll off my back because I just figured this was what happened when girls were thin. But, I wasn't partial to it necessarily. Sure it was a boost in confidence and kind of funny most of the time, but it wasn't what I was looking for, or so I thought.

I discovered that the reason I wasn't eating was because I was terribly lonely and wanted attention no matter how I got it. So I denied myself one of the things I loved most in life: food.
This is not and will never be the path to enlightenment. But, I denied myself that too.

I don't recall a certain time I decided to start eating again. I don't recall it precisely. But, I do recall a day spent with my surrogate Mexican family and all they could ever tell me was how I needed to eat or I would die. It reminded me a little of the archetypal Italian grandmother insisting " Mange'! Mange'!"

The purpose of life is clear: enlightenment. Plain and goddamn simple. And as I have said before, superficial ascertainment of happiness through the denial of human needs is not the way to go.

So I started eating again. I gained weight. And summer came.

I was not afraid in the summer to show my arms, I was not afraid to wear short skirts, I was not afraid to be seen in public in a bathing suit. I did not miss the onslaught of douchebags and tools. I did not insist happiness through denial of food. In fact, I became very, very happy with myself.

I loved my body in a way I never have before, even, dare I say it, more than when I was thin.

But, last night I found myself slipping back into self loathing, not just because of being a little heavier than usual. But, rather because I've found myself numb compared to the past years I've spent. Last night I was not happy with myself, in fact last night I downright hated my not skinny ass.

But, today is a new day. I came home from the stay-in-town-vacation I spent with Melody and took a long nap and when I woke up, the old addage came true yet again, " everything will look prettier in the morning." and though it wasn't morning when I woke up, it was around 7pm. I was pretty happy with life.

So, I decided to crack open the old book that always makes me feel better: Eat, Pray, Love and have some frozen pizza, while waiting for my best friend to get off work.

And though I know the struggle isn't over, I suppose I will live to fight another day.

Excuse the diatribe.