How To Carry The Weight
The other day, I was talking about how much I weigh and how this affects my life, and the person I was talking with said something to me she said “but you carry your weight so well.” At 200 pounds, five foot five, eighteen years old- “You learn to carry it.” I responded softly.
You learn to carry the weight by pouring through magazine articles that say they will teach you fashion make-up, social skills- self-confidence.
You go online to learn how to handle a smudge brush How to crimp your eyelashes And pluck your brows. You find comfort in controlling the liquid liner In making your eyes look bigger or smaller and contouring your face using foundation and highlighter and toner.
You learn to avoid Hollister and Abercrombie When you are not yet thirteen years old And later on in life know to walk right past Urban Outfitters and Wet Seal Because they only carry up to a size large.
You find joy in fashion By shopping at stores that carry your size That add Xs to the Ls like kisses.. You shop with your mother because she won’t lie to you like your friends do When you try on something that makes your legs look big Or your stomach more round.
And when your mother becomes too conservative Or too outdated- You learn how to shop alone. You stop yourself from responding to people who tell you “You are not fat” with “If I am not fat, then why does the bed only creak when I jump into it?” “If I am not fat, then why am I out of breath just walking back from class?” “If I am not fat, why can I grab my stomach in fistfuls while other people can barely pinch theirs?” and instead you shrug your shoulders let your mind scream but your mouth smile and suck your stomach in and say “I guess.”
You start reading books about boys falling in love with girls And trying very hard not to remind yourself That the girls in the books are skinny And so are the boys And that books are not real for you And never can be.
You make friends with nice girls Who will not make fun of you And will not push you out of your comfort zone Of skirts that cover your thighs And bathing suits that hide your stomach.
You avoid being even just friends with boys The same way you avoid those stores because most teenage boys don’t carry thoughts in your size. And it gets tiring being a matchmaker for someone who sees you as not a different sex but a different species.
And you start to hate your hands Because they do not look hold-able You start to hate your lips Because they do not seem kissable You hate your hips even more Because they do not appear touchable And then you just- STOP. You force yourself to sidestep the idea of relationships Because you do not feel date-able. You avoid the mirror altogether on bad days When your body starts to push out of your clothes You force yourself into sweatpants and sweatshirts And place your big, fat body in front of the television And watch the lives you will not lead, And try not to go out because honestly? It feels like shit to be seen. You stare into the mirror on good days And give yourself a long, hard look Inspecting the nice parts of your face. Maybe it’s your eyes, the way your hair looks, Your nose or how evenly spaced your forehead looks. You remind yourself of what everyone always tells you- A fat girl sure can have a pretty face.
You find comfort in words in other people’s success stories in plus sized clothing sections in a whole twenty four hours you didn’t think people were staring at you in the two seconds the cute boy was, and smiling. You carry the weight by keeping your chin up -Because if you look down People will see you have two.
-Molly Glynn
