My mother and I have a toxic relationship. It wasn't always that way. But now... we love each other and we hate each other and there is no room for an in between.
I hate myself most of the time and she does not know how to help me. Most of the time it feels like she doesn't care to help me. Big issue: I am overweight. I hate being overweight. I'm not anywhere close to being airlifted out of my house or anything, but I'm far from a model. I'd fit right in on that new "Huge" show (which, side note, I LOVE!!).
Anyway, lately I've been wishing that I looked now, how I looked in high school. Man, if I knew then what I know now, I would've enjoyed myself better. I would've enjoyed breasts that defied gravity and thighs that fit comfortably into jeans. Fast forward ten years and... well... things are not as pretty.
So I want to lose weight. But it's hard when genetics are against you. It's hard when your income is against you. It's hard when you feel like your mother is against you.
First off, I should tell you that my mother isn't one of those "you look fat in that" mothers. God no! She's always real supportive in that way. Even when I feel fat and know that I look like a blimp, she says I'm beautiful. Half the time that makes me feel worse though. I'm thinking that has to do with the bipolar and the paranoia. No matter what she says aloud I see her looking at me and I feel like she's starting at the same love handle I am.
The problems over my weight really come up for three reasons. The first is my mother's obsession with Pepsi. And no, I'm not being funny. She's obsessed with Pepsi. She brings it into the house whenever she can. She goes through a 2 liter bottle a day, at least. If she could afford it, she may go through more. Anyway, Pepsi is a staple in my house and it is SOOO tempting. God!! I want that refreshing soda for myself as soon as it comes into the house. And does she understand this? Does she understand that I have no willpower? That I'm like an alcoholic and she's bringing vodka into the house? Nope! Or at least, she doesn't care.
"Why shouldn't I be able to have soda? You're trying to control me." She says to me. No, I'm not trying to control her. If every time that she left the house she chugged a gallon of Pepsi, I wouldn't care. But to drink it in front of my face when she knows that I am weak, well I just find that cruel. Am I wrong? Cutting down on soda would help both of us. And that's what I tell myself when she starts to make me feel badly about it.
The second reason this weight issue becomes a fight is because of what she says right after I ask her if she really "needs" soda today. She immediately turns the tables on me. Says, "well you don't need potato chips, but you buy them".
FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1, potato chips and I have a natural affinity. They love me and I love them. I cannot eat just one. I cannot eat just two. If I had a family size bag of Herr's Sour Cream & Onion right now, I would lock myself in my bedroom, turn on some My So-Called Life and pig the fuck out. 2, knowing of this affinity. Knowing that I will eat the ENTIRE bag myself, I have willed myself to not purchase chips every time I go to the grocery store. It's been at least two weeks since I had a chip and for me, that's excellent. I can not say that my mother has gone without Pepsi for two weeks, as it is in our fridge right now. 3, I have attempted so many "chip alternatives" it is not funny. Chex mix... not for me. Baked chips... like cardboard with a hint of flavor. Pretzels... who even considers that a junk food? Really? The closest I've come to getting a nice crunch and curbing my chip habit is when I buy those tasty little goldfish crackers. Which I do. When I can.
So why does she have to throw potato chips in my face when she knows that I'm trying my hardest to kick the habit? I don't know. Because she hates me. Because she's mean. Because she wants me to continue to hate myself forever and ever and ever and ever....
Third, and finally, we fight because we're poor. We fight because we live in a small apartment and she sleeps in the living room. Every time I go into the kitchen I pass her. Every time I leave the kitchen I pass her. So, she knows what I eat for breakfast. She knows how many sandwiches I make for lunch. She knows how big the servings are on my dinner plate. She knows whether or not I put whipped cream on my dessert. And because she's so nosy, even if I put something in a dark bowl that she can't see into, she'll ask me "what are you eating?"
I feel obese every time I leave the kitchen. I feel like she's watching me. Judging the food on my plate. Looking at it, then at my stomach, wishing she had a thin daughter. What's funny is that I want to lose weight, but I eat when I'm unhappy. And I'm unhappy when I eat. So I eat. Then I'm unhappy. It's the Fat Bastard syndrome to the worst degree.
I wonder if Fat Bastard had a mother that stared at his food.
You know the absolute worst thing about this all. Sometimes I sneak food. While my mother's napping quietly or engrossed in a TV show, I will make a sandwich and eat it IN the kitchen. I'll fill the dishwasher while I'm in there. I'll pretend to be doing anything else, but eating. That way, I get full and no one sees.
My hope is that when we move into a bigger place, which should be soon, I can get a treadmill in my house. They're not so expensive anymore. I can walk and jog even while watching TV. My mother will have her own room so she won't know what I'm eating. I mean, these are partial solutions, but I do know that I need to work on liking myself more if any weight loss is going to work.
But liking myself just seems so far-fetched right now.
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