Chapter 1 of The Weight of The World

Chapter One

Imagine……for a second when a parent welcomes a new baby into the world. They have all these hopes and dreams for their newly born child. Each parent has things in mind that they want their child to achieve, that they want their child to experience. No new parents ever wanted their new child to be faced with one experience, the experience of being FAT. Yes, I said the “F” word!!! Or which other word would you perfer me to use, “ OVER WEIGHT” , “ OBESSE”, “HEAVY SEAT”, just to name a few. I perfer just the “F” word indeed. The other words to me have a worse meaning than just plain ol’ FAT.
When I was born, I know my parents initially never thought I would have to experience the hardship of growing up as an overweight child, teenager, and adult. I’m sure the thought never crossed their mind. I mean come on get real my parents aren’t that shallow. But having an overweight child is almost the same as having a child addicted to drugs, except food is the drug. Each person needs to eat to survive in this world. You need food to nourish your body, unlike crack. People who don’t have a weight problem are probably thinking “ How and the hell can she even compare a food addiction to a drug addiction”. It’s simple, you need food to survive, and when this food suddenly becomes a “drug addiction” for you it is not necessarily to survive anymore, its to feed the addiction the satisfaction of opening that first bag of Doritos, and smelling the satisfaction that comes from within the bag. It is the same as when a drug addict takes his first hit of heroin or cocain.
Food is everywhere. America thrives on food. It surrounds us everywhere. Food has been implemented into almost every holiday here in America. Food is usually the center of the home. “ The kitchen is where the heart is” reads a banner in an old timey general store. That banner holds much truth to my point that food is everywhere, swarming around those of us that have a serious weight problem or an addiction to food, such as myself. I think about this and I can remember that when my parents had parties or friends over, or even just my grandma over for dinner everyone always congregated in the kitchen. The fuss was always about what was for dinner, or what were those fabulous aromas fumigating the kitchen that had everyone staggering their way to the kitchen by their noses. No wonder I have struggled with my relationship with food, it has been imbedded into my brain since I was small. I often find myself trying to remember an event at my house where food was not present. I can’t because their hasn’t been any. I lived in a house with two wonderful parents. Both of them being wonderful cooks. My dad coming from an Italian family where his grandparents came straight off the boat from Italy. You can only imagine what kind of food we ate. Anything from homemade Lasagna, fresh garlic bread, homemade tarts with fruit filling, to anything chocolate. My mother was a good cook as well. She never messed up anything she baked. As far as meals came she was always famous for having too much food, at our family events. She always wanted to make sure everyone had enough to eat and drink. She was often the last to get her plate at dinners with lots of people because she was too worried about if everyone else had “enough” on their plate. “Go back for more, help yourself” where the words that came out of my mothers mouth very often after finishing a meal at my house. Even today she still asks me after we have finished eating “ Did you get enough to eat Tootie?” Don’t mind the nickname it have been stuck with me since I was little and being that I am now 23 years old my parents still call me Tootie, and might I add write it on my cards for my birthday, or my Christmas packages. We all have one, Tootie or Toots just happens to be mine.
Am I blaming my parents for this struggle that I have with food. No, not by any means. They never once told me to open my mouth and force ten giant marshmellows down my throat, or any other food for that matter. What I am saying is that when you struggle to have a healthy relationship with food, it’s a little hard when it’s in every aspect of your life. Sometimes I question myself, and think, I wonder why God made me this way, why me? I know that everyone is made the way they are for a special reason or purpose, and that I am lucky that being fat is my only struggle in my life. But, wait, is it my only struggle. I would like to believe that if I had a better relationship with food I wouldn’t struggle with the things I am challenged with each day. I feel like most days I have no direction. No path way, I make decisions, and I think and look back and ask myself “ Why did I do that?” I wonder a lot about the purpose of things in life. I wonder why and how people are so cruel and not understanding to those of us who face challenges like being overweight. What the hell do they know, has anyone besides myself struggled with something before. Of course, everyday millions of people struggle with something everyday. My struggle just happens to effect me in a way that not only consumes me, but sometimes leaves me in tears, and wondering what life would be life if I were thin.
For someone who has never felt this way it would be hard for them to understand. People who have never been faced with a serious weight problem before think, “Why can’t overweight people just go on a diet?” Well you see, for all of those skinny bitches out there, it is not that easy. Going on a diet is not just the solution to weight loss success, or maintaining a healthy relationship with food, its about changing the way you live your life. It’s ( I totally can’t believe that I am putting this in writing) a life style change, that you yourself has to be committed too. You can’t just wake up one day and say “ Today I am never going to eat another Little Debbie Snack Cake again, my fat days are over!” It just doesn’t work that way. When you struggle with being addicted with food, it takes over your whole life. When you’re an addict like myself, food is often my best friend. It has always been their when I need it. When I have a bad day or am depressed it’s the satisfaction of scarfing down a whole row of Oreo’s that makes me feel better. Food never talks back to me, it never has an opinion other than “EAT ME”. It’s reliable, and sometimes is available for a small fee. Every friendship comes with a price right? Food for me is like the Pshychiatrist I never have had to pay for. It’s the satisfaction of eating the whole pint of ice cream during your favorite TV show. It literally is a drug. The smell, the taste, the whole process of buying with excitement of “ OHHHHH can’t wait to take a bite out of you!!! It’s the way it tastes in my mouth, the process of preparing or the preparation. It’s the way it makes me feel after I eat it, and it’s the feeling that everyday is Thanksgiving, except for the Turkey and Cranberry Sauce. Just like someone who is addicted to heroin, it’s the same feeling. Drugs affect the mind, and alter perceptions, but yet so does food. It’s like the needle going into my arm each time I open my mouth. I get excited just by the simple thought of going to Dairy Queen, or going somewhere to have a favorite meal, just the way a drug addict gets the rush of adrenalin when he scores his next hit of dope. I am not sure I am the only one feeling this way, but it’s not something I am proud of. It is scary that something as simple as food, could have this kind of outrageous and gross affect on a person. It is not something that I am proud of, but it is something that only few can relate to. It literally feels like I am carrying the “Weight” of the world on my shoulders, instead the weight is all over my whole body.