Intellectual knowledge and internal acceptance

Intellectual knowledge does not influence the subconscious as much as I would like. I know that physical appearance is no criteria to judge a person by, yet I can't help judging myself. I tell myself not to, and it happens anyway. Not that I'm so concerned with my looks, I don't really care about my dead, yellowing front tooth or my receding hair. But there's something that does bother me, and if ignoring the topic would get me anywhere it bet it would've done it by now, so I need to try something new. I do not like being fat. I absolutely hate it.

I was a chubby kid. It didn't really bother me in elementary school, maybe a little bit in fifth grade, but not much. I lived my life reading books, watching star trek, and playing with friends. Self image was not important. I barely remember thinking about it. Middle school was the different, and it was not an improvement. Somewhere in those three years I was made to know that I was fat, and, because of that condition, I was more or less inferior to my peers. This grew on me gradually, kids picked on me, but I didn't realize until much later what was going on. There was one particular incident, though, which stands out in my memory. I was in class (Geography with Mrs. Hull) and talking with a couple guys, surreptitiously during lecture, when I encountered an unflattering drawing of myself complete with man boobs (as pointed out by a label). This cut deep, because the guy who drew it, and the other fellow to a lesser extent, had been my good friend in elementary school and I had still considered him one. I don't remember exactly how I felt, but I felt bad. Bad enough to remember my mental screenshot of the picture as I write, ten years later.

I was desperately unhappy about the situation, but I didn't know how to handle it. I had never been active, had no interest in sports, and I felt prohibited from joining anything of the sort for fear of ridicule, which I had received enough of in gym classes. Thus I continued on: chubby, unhappy, and a total nerd. In retrospect it was probably my personality that drew attacks just as much as my weight, but that never occurred to me. In my mind I grew to demonize the traits of athleticism: equating fitness with vanity, stupidity, and cruelty. It wasn't the most enlightened perspective, but it was my defense mechanism (and I knew there were exceptions). Simultaneously, I was a very diligent student, since academic achievement was basically my sole source of praise and self respect.

In high school it was the same. At least for the first two, maybe two and a half, years. I was an unfit nerd with few social connections, by this point conditioned not to approach anyone, and not likely to be the receiver of much interaction. At some point in there I decided to do something about my condition and lose weight. I accomplished this solely through caloric deprivation. I didn't realize it at the time, but looking back I was probably bordering on an eating disorder. It did the trick though, and I became skinny. As a result people were basically more interested in what I had to say and, in senior year, my former image was replaced with the new Taylor: a thin pessimist with piercing and bitter insight, not to mention tongue.

People loved new Taylor and I had a great year, but, as I'm beginning to understand fully now, the damage was not repaired. I still have a tendency not to invite anyone to anything, because deep down I don't think they'll accept. I'm hesitant to share my feelings with others, because I know most people love little more than to mock. And, I have an unhealthy aversion to fat on my body. My last few months have been relatively sedentary, and it's the holiday season. I've been gaining some weight. And even though I know, on an intellectual level, that it's not really a big deal, other people don't care nearly as much as I do, if they even notice, that I will easily lose it in a month when I go to China, and it has no impact on my worth, it still drives me crazy. It would make sense if I felt disappointment, regret, or annoyance when confronting my returning jiggles, but what I actually feel, now that I think about it, is fear.

Somewhere inside that murky subconscious I must have an ingrained correlation between fat and alienation. As if gaining a few pounds will cause people to shun me. Now, to an extent this is actually true, but not anywhere near to the point I feel it. My question is now, "how do I change myself?" How can I straighten this kink and put image where it belongs, in the irrelevant category? I already "know" that it doesn't matter, but that hasn't changed the way I feel.

Oh well, this has basically been a rant, although I guess it's not angry, but you know what I mean. Well, as usual, the only "you" is me, Taylor, so of course you know. And although the subject today has been rather dark, it's not all bad things lying ahead. I have a much better understanding of what's going on these days, and, despite my tone earlier, I think my self possession is strong enough now to break down the misunderstandings and put things right.

Home

I'm living in the same old house, still living with my parents and my brother, but it doesn't feel like home when the other people want you gone. You know the feeling of standing in a place just as you're about to move out: at once so familiar, and yet empty of all it held before. This is the feeling I have now, not just in this house, but in my own mind.

It's taken me longer than most to reach this mark in life. I don't want to ask for things. My family is a mental burden. I don't enjoy being a disappointment, but it's not going to stop anytime soon, so I must leave. I'm sure they still love me, though I know I don't really understand the relationship between parents and children, but living with them is fettering.

It's mostly my Mom. Maybe she doesn't realize it, but she almost never speaks to me without mentioning something I should be doing, something I should have done, or something I did wrong. What I thought was a nice sunday morning, today, turned into a bothersome one when she began quizzing me on the jobs I've failed to secure. Why? I don't know. Did she think that anything good would come of it? Every day she asks me what I did and the answer is always the same, and she always knows it before she asks. "Not much," I say. I can only interpret her inquiries as criticism.

Perhaps I'm over-thinking, maybe. That is a habit of mine. But in any case it seems my days of unconditional acceptance at home are over. And it's not just you, even to me it feels like a case of dragging feet. If I had a job and lived in my own place none of this would be an issue. At the same time, though, I can't help but ask myself, "why? why did this all happen?" again, and again, and again. Life is an imposition, but I suppose I should concentrate less on how I got into this situation, and more on how I'm going to get out of it.

Well, I know how I'm getting out of it. I'm going to China. That's a about a month and a half away, with Christmas in between. I hope we can have some good times together before I go, because I won't be back for a long time. In the back of my head I feel I may never come back, maybe for a visit, but not truly. There's something appealing about life in a land where nobody knows you.