I Find It Increasingly Difficult to Write About My Life at 400+ Pounds

How reading the comments made me afraid to keep being honest.

So far, there are a handful of moments in my writing career that are forever burned into my mind. Unfortunately, they aren’t all pleasant.

There’s a joke that one writer made to another on Twitter about me that used my weight as a punchline, and I find it hard to forget because I know that’s how plenty of other people see me.

As a punchline.

Since I’m a woman who weighs 400 pounds (though right now, it’s likely more), when I speak up to stand up for myself, it’s not pretty. I find that I am more easily written off as pushy or difficult because people already see me as a person occupying more space than she needs.

If I have a problem with that, some folks are quick to remind me that all of this is my fault. I shouldn’t write about being fat if I don’t like being seen as fat. Duh.

The truth is that I have found it increasingly difficult to write about my weight or disordered eating because I’ve made the mistake of reading the comments. Or emails, Tweets, messages--whatever. The responses.

I’ve read too many statements from people whose words have done more harm than good. And, no, I’m not immune to taking that shit personally.

Over the past few months, there have been many times where I wanted to write something about my struggles with my weight but opted to bite my tongue instead.

For me, everything about food and eating is difficult. I make plans that I adhere to for a few days if I’m lucky.

I see doctors, therapists, and nutritionists, but come away with more questions than answers. And I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell anyone how I’m really doing when they ask.

There have been a few times when a friend asked how I’m doing and I almost told them the truth. Almost told them how much Halloween candy I bought this month, or how I ordered way too much Chinese food last week, had a binge, and threw the rest away in the dumpster before I could think too hard about it and put it in the fridge.

I certainly didn’t tell them about doing the same damn thing two days later.

There’s a part of me that wants to be honest. That feels like healing would be telling the truth. I wasn’t always a binge eater, but I can almost understand why I do it now.

It has a lot to do with security and self-care. In a strange way, binge eating makes me feel safe. And every single weight loss plan on the planet takes away that security blanket. Assuming I want to keep my teeth. I mean I could binge on watermelon and other fruits with a raw foods diet, but doing so caused considerable dental damage already.

Lately, I’ve realized that maybe I do want to write about these embarrassing things. Sure, my first instinct is to hide them and that’s why most people never have heard me talk about a binge eating episode. It’s this part of my life that’s private, like going to the bathroom.

But keeping it secret is doing strange things to me. Binge eating is this thing that’s always on my mind but never fully acknowledged, because it’s not something we want to talk about.

Even discussing a binge episode with a therapist or nutritionist is next to impossible because you wind up feeling like such a failure week after week. And it’s already been hammered into my head long ago that I’m just doing this to myself.

Regardless of how “bad” my binges are, I want to bring them out of hiding. I want to talk about the fact that I still think I should go on a gastric bypass diet. Do what Zach is doing and actually stick to the plan.

The truth is that I don’t think I dare even consider weight loss surgery until I can resolve more of these issues with my eating. Over the past few years, I sabotage any healthy eating plan.

Why? Stuffing myself feels like that security blanket. It’s the opposite of not having enough. And for at least two years, binge eating has been the active way I manage any feelings of need.

Maybe it’s selfish, but I want to write about these issues honestly. Without censoring myself because I’m afraid of what people will say. I want to give people a place to talk about this outside of the structure and powerlessness of submitting to a higher power, taking a 12 steps approach with Overeaters Anonymous.

Because, for one thing, it’s not anonymous. People already see our fat. And for another thing, I don’t believe in the 12 steps or this notion that food must hold power over me.

But, of course, I want to write about these things without reading additional measures of judgment. I want to write about the realities of an eating disorder without all of the censure or suggestions.

Without all of the advice.

And I hear that such feelings are ungrateful. Or unrealistic. Perhaps, it’s simply in very poor taste.

Maybe it really is selfish to want to write about my weight and diet struggles without having to read the uncomfortable comments.

Though, who’s to say a little bit of selfishness can’t be a good thing? If it helps me get through the struggles, maybe that’s exactly what I need.

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