I'm a joke weight.
In terms of, I weigh a number that people toss out when they want to describe someone who is really fat. I know this because of a movie, where I first noticed it. The conversation went something like this:
"Well she's gained a bit of weight."
"Oh yeah, like what is she now?"
"Well you, big, like X"
"Oh...X eh? Wow yeah that's big."
I had that terrible moment, watching that movie, where I realized I was far bigger than that number. It's been years ago, but I've never forgotten that feeling of humiliation, of weighing MORE than the "oh that's gross" weight from the movie. I then began to notice that number being tossed around here and there in social media, in the press, movies, blogs etc. A number that was just "Oh yeah that's big."
I've lost a lot of weight. I'm always fucking hungry. I work out (not as much as I should, after all I am sitting here aren't I? I should be working out). But I'm trying. I'm trying to change my life and be healthy. I want my arthritis to POOF be gone, I want my asthma to be better, I want my stomach to stop eating itself. I don't want vascular insufficiency to continue to be an issue. I want my heart to pump with it's electrical problem to it's best ability. I want my liver and kidneys to do their job and not fail.
But despite the actual improvement in ALL of those things that I had problems with, and the things that I didn't (yet), the fact remains.
I'm a joke weight.
I feel embarrassed anymore, when someone talks about my weight loss, because I remember I'm a joke weight. I might look better, but I don't look good. I look like a person that a movie would say "WOW that's big."
I won't stop working. But I wonder now, will I ever feel like I'm at my goal? Even when I hit it. Will I ever stop chasing the concept of not looking like a joke? Of not being the gross fat girl people are making fun of in movies?
It's actually a pretty good movie, though. It's funny how stuff sticks with you.
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