The small touches make the difference.

I'm fat. Don't even start with the "Oh honey, you're just fine. You're not fat!" comments. It's a medical fact. I'm overweight. I'm not nearly as fat as I used to be, but the fact remains that I'm still heavier than I should be by society's standards. I'm fairly open with it. I laugh at myself in public about it, and I wasn't always able to do that.

When I was younger, I was a size 18. This is bigger than you'd imagine. I think my waist was probably 38", although my overly large breasts would hide that fact quite well. I was oddly well proportioned, and most people wouldn't ever guess my true size, but I still hated myself for being that big. Kids are rough on themselves, you know? It didn't help that my step-sister was a size 10. She wasn't small, but to me she was perfect. I would compare myself to her every day and fall short.

I had kids, and my weight ballooned even higher still. I think at one point I was up to a size 22. Eventually, I stopped eating. It just seemed like too much effort. Usually depression led to food for me, but this was different. I had just gotten the boot from a terrible relationship, and I laid in bed for weeks. I didn't eat anything but a little dietary aid I lovingly refer to as meth. Yes, that's right. Meth. I put meth in St. Johns Wort pills and took them for a few weeks straight. I think in my life I've done about 3/4 of a gram of meth, which isn't much at all. I'm pretty lucky in that I never build up a tolerance to illegal drugs. No, my body saves that lovely thing called tolerance for the prescriptions that I need, much to my aggravation. I lost quite a bit of weight, bringing myself back down to a size 18. My husband and I got back together (hint: not the relationship I referred to earlier), and I stopped caring so much about my weight.

I got angry at my ex and decided to learn C, primarily to write GTK apps. I have severe ADD, and at the time I was unmedicated for it. My brother was getting adderall, and he started giving them to me. Woah, look at that weight , the basis for comparison that I used on an everyday basis, drop. All I did for months was code and sleep. Food? Who has time for it. Hence I got down smaller than I'd ever been until that point - size 14. Then came another job, where I was working night shift and doing lines of blow in the bathroom to stay awake. Wow, there goes more weight. Size 10.

I'm convinced that few people ever lose an extraordinary amount of weight through anything other than sickness or drugs. Exercise and eating right? Who has the time?

I put on a bit of weight these past few months, bringing myself back up to a size 14. I'm starting to take it back off, but it's not easy, especially not with it being Easter. I love this time of year because it's the only time they sell the only chocolate I like: Cadburry Eggs. I eat the things like I used to eat meth pills, and they have the exact opposite effect on my bootie. I dread waking up in the morning, because I look at my closet and wonder what happened to all of my fat-girl tshirts. You know, the ones that drape over my breasts and cover up half my butt & hips. Oh yeah, that's right, I gave them to goodwill in an adderall induced frantic cleaning spree. Fuck.

So now, I'm looking at eating and exercise in an entirely new light. I'm not really up for doing the drugs. Mike and I are working towards something, and it's time to grow up. That's not to say I'm going to stop doing drugs entirely, but I don't see it as a means to an end anymore.

I haven't really cared to lose weight in a long time, but I find myself looking in the mirror and noticing the subtle - and not so subtle - differences in my face, my ass, my stomache. I love myself, but I have to fight not to hate the way I look. For a long time I stopped doing all the girly things I used to love. You know, the small touches females do that guys so rarely notice. Shaping the eyebrows, putting lotion on religiously, facials (and not of the bukakke variety). I painted my nails earlier this week. When I stood outside work smoking my one and only Camel Light of the day and grooving to the sweet sounds of Anastacia being blasted out of my iPod, I looked down at my toes peeking out from beneath the dusty fringe of my jeans. Pink, girly toes. Cute toes. It made me smile. It's something small, but it's a start.