I’ve been fat all my life. Just thinking about my weight gives me agata. On a recent home time I was cleaning and found a bunch of photographs. There in my hand was 53 years of my “fat” life on glossy 3×5 paper. I promised myself I would not get upset.

The first picture was of me, my instructor and 5 students when we all graduated trucking school. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. My CDL is more valuable to me than any college degree. Looking at myself in the photo, the first thing that flashed in my mind is my mother saying to me when she saw the photo “Gee, you actually look normal.”

Look normal? You mean not fat? At the time I just let it go. I really shouldn’t have. The next photo was of my father and I in New York City. He had taken me into work with him. I think I was about 17. When we were walking to his office he said to me; “you shouldn’t really wear suits.” I never challenged that statement because, well, I just didn’t. Was it the whole weight thing again? Was that how he valued my worth? He was thin, but also struggled his whole life trying to stay that way.  Remember Metracal and Tab? He died of a sudden heart attack at 55.

The third photo. High school. What a horrible time. I felt the entire world was thin except for me. My entire existence at that time surrounded my weight and waist size. Watching TV was painful as I desperately wanted to be as “trim” (sexy?) as James T. Kirk on Star Trek or Jack Tripper on Three’s Company. My reality was that I looked more like Drew Carey in a world of stick people in tight jeans and skin tight shirts. 

I had gone down to Miami to spend the summer with my uncle and lost 35 lbs. I got down to 160 lbs. I wanted so badly to play football. When I got back to school in September, I was told that I had missed the (mid-summer) registration and tryouts. I was crushed. Nothing else at the time mattered to me. Within a few months, I shot back up to 200 lbs.

Thirty plus years later, I still remember looking down and seeing the 200 on the scale. I promised myself that’s it. I will NEVER weigh more. 225, 250, 275, now, many years later I struggle to get down below 300.  Over the years I have what they call yo-yo’d up and down.  This part of my life is tiresome, frustrating and annoying. 

I’ve thought about eating, food and my weight, almost obsessively. It’s painful.  I’ve promised myself to weigh myself regularly and the scale is still in the box. Nightly I go through the struggle of trying not to eat, many times feeling really hungry and then not be able to sleep. A couple of weeks ago, I bought a bag of those soft little white sugury donuts and went back to the truck. I ate the damn whole bag and finally feel asleep. I was miserable when I woke up. I had taken my drug that time I call the “danger zone” – between about 2pm and sleep. 

Eating dinner has always been a problem for me. I’ve always wondered that if I can only control what I eat during that time maybe I could lose weight.  No more blood pressure bills and maybe my knees wouldn’t be in so much pain. 

That’s twice not I’ve mentioned pain. So here’s one more big fear of mine –   DOT physicals. The last one, a few months ago, the “doctor” talked to me like a child and looked at me like with utter disdain. “Your BMI – body mass index – is and you’re gonna die”, blab la bla. I lost two weeks of vacation time and pay because I couldn’t get my BP down from over 200/180 because I was so upset. And right now I’m stressed thinking about the next one months away. Talk about a monkey on my back!

Back to the photographs. I looked “normal” as a kid. Later, I was a “typical” man. But I never felt that way. I always felt fat. One time my parents, my brother and me drove to a White Castle restaurant. My younger brother ordered a chocolate shake with his meal. The waitress, back then on roller skates, wrote it down. I ordered one too. “Oh no, not for you”, my mother said. “And a small order of fries for you.” I was so embarrassed and secretly silently angry.

Enough with the photographs. I can regale you with story after story about my “weight” experiences. Funny thing is that right now, hovering around 300 lbs. I finally do actually (strangely?)  feel good about myself. I feel more “normal” than ever. I don’t hate myself, despite my size.  Talk about a conflict.  Health wise, I guess I want to be thinner, but after all these years, being OTR in a truck, how to lose weight – permanently – is beyond my understanding. I need to eat, just not that much. But how?

And yes, I tried every weight plan, diet and program there is. I’ve done the counseling thing. I’ve also thought about surgery. The insurance companies don’t seem to be that interested in me now. My plan will not pay for any kind of weight control. It’s go it alone, jack. It would be better if I had a heart attack and they would feel better about paying for a lap-band or gastric-bypass procedure. And my family doctor can’t seem to figure out how to make it happen.

And then I think about being thin? Would I know I’m thin? Would I finally feel good? Or am I doomed to always feel that I am fat? Being thin and thinking you’re fat – what a bummer!  Am I cursed to look in the mirror no matter what my weight and see someone else? So what the heck does it matter losing weight? Someone said to me that I’m killing myself – a slow suicide. Maybe that’s true. What do you think? How are you coping with your weight? Do you drive around picturing yourself as a thinner person? Do you drive yourself crazy that I have? I appreciate your feedback.

PS/It’s 1:30pm right now. I just had a can of chili and a few crackers. A diet coke. Now if I can only not eat anything else until the morning, I’ll feel good.

The photo credit is: http://www.pinknews.co.uk/news/articles/2005-4172.html – and no, those are not my “dogs” on the scale

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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