The Real Me

I have always hid behind my appearance, I also have always made excuses about my appearance. It runs in the family, I’m just like my mom, the weight will come off, but in reality the weight did come off, and then it came back. It was basically like a plague that never wanted to go away. Or one of those colds that lasted for weeks on in. Honestly my weight has been more than just a burden, it was an excuse to be mean, to be tough and more importantly to be noticed. I always wanted attention but settled for the attention of being the “big one”, “the thick one”, “the chubby one”. I had a guy call me his little thickums. I mean really? Your little thickums? Seriously, come on dude wtf? I’m nobody’s thickums at least not anymore. Which is why I’m laying up here on this surgery table, so I don’t have to be anyone’s little thickums anymore.

            Let’s start at the beginning, I was born August— okay, not that far in the beginning but at least back in February. When my new family doctor possibly ruined my life. Oh yeah I’m Jessie, I’m from Chicago, yes the same place that Kanye West is from but in my defense Keke Palmer is from Chicago too! And she’s pretty awesome, and pretty, and thin. I wish I was thin but at this point in life I just wish I wasn’t fat. But back to the story. It was in February that my life was ruined. I went to the doctor knowing that I was going to have a bad day. Why because I was fat, and fat people have bad days, just kidding, but because I knew something that I didn’t want other people to know.

            My mother was one of those people, she has tried her best to shelter and expose me to life in the best way possible. If you don’t understand what I just said you obviously don’t know my mom. Despite our love/hate relationship or should I say extremely strong moments of utter disgust for each other that happens every now again, thankfully not often. My mom and I are pretty close. I would say we are the true definition of what mother and daughter best friend relationship looks like. Although there are moments I wish I could die (notice I said I could die, not her.) it’s in those moments that I feel I’m a burden to her and upsetting her would be the worst thing in the world ever to do. Hence my own issues with wanting to make people happy. It’s a curse in its own birth right, and honestly it keeps me sane. My mom and I, suffer the same problem but only on different levels. I will continue to say we are like best friends because we fight, and we love like friends do. Only difference, I know my mommy/best friend isn’t gonna leave me if I screw up big. Which is why I didn’t want her to know, what I was going through and dealing with.

            As we go into the doctor’s office patient room, I feel cold and terrified. I knew that my life was going to come crashing down like a horrible plague killing little children who in fact have no health insurance to save them and are suffering a painful death. I listened quietly as the doctor explained to me what the computer had to say and I instantly felt my heart drop. Not only did the worst thing imaginable happen, it happened in front of my mom. I knew that things were not okay and when listening to the doctor form those words in front of her caused me pain. The look on her face made my heart break into the thousand pieces, I had finally done the worst thing a child could do. I broke my mother’s heart, the one thing in this world I was trying to avoid. As the doctor asked my mother to leave the room, a river of tears flowed down my cheeks, landing on my lips.

            “Jessie are you okay? Do you want to talk?” I heard the doctor ask me as I desperately tried to wake up from this horrible dream, but it wasn’t a dream.

            “I knew it was that bad but I just didn’t want her to know. I really didn’t want her to find out like this.” I cried and cried.

            “Jessie I know, that’s why I asked her to leave the room. In the future she doesn’t have to come in with you. It’s okay.”

            “I know I just didn’t want to disappoint her.”

            “Well, you are borderline diabetes which means you don’t have it but you are very close. You are on the line of having it. I think if you just lost some weight, maybe ten pounds you will be fine. You are 294 which means you lost one pound since our last visit. That is very good.” I just cried I couldn’t believe I let myself get this far behind and I let myself go this much.

            The ride home was no better, somewhere between giving me a pep talk I think my mom realized that I needed a hug and not a pep talk. Trying to make me feel better was probably the hardest thing she had to do in that moment because in that moment, nothing mattered to me. In that moment I let down the one person who has watched me struggle. All the things she has ever said to me came to mind in that moment. One of those things would be having a heart attack in my sleep. For one I was 5’3, so let’s do the math on someone who is 5’3 and 294 pounds at that time. 

            After a while my mom pulled over and gave me what I so desperately needed, a hug. When we came home we calmed down and things for me went a lot smoother, well talking at least. We decided that I would try a diet to lose ten pounds, surgery was an option but was soon forgotten about until month later. For a while, the diet I had started really helped,
I was losing weight and feeling good about it. The problem was I was losing weight quickly.

            Around the time my brother decided to make important life changes was when my weight declined, quickly. At the time, I was cleansing. Not something I enjoyed but I did it anyway. The cleansing only worked because 1.) I was forcing myself and 2.) Due to stress in the house and at school, I was starving myself. I was worried about passing my classes and doing well on top of losing weight, add in a little self-hate, and stress in the household and you have a walking, talking and breathing monster with possible beginning of an eating disorder. At the time the only person who knew of my little eating the bare minimum diet was my grandmother. She didn’t in fact know I was starving myself but she is no dumb woman, she had an idea and she told me to just be careful. I cried a lot during that time and tried to rationalize my anger.  

            I hated myself completely and those around me. I had tried to hurt myself in the process of becoming someone people actually liked. During my starvation period I lost a total of 10 pounds. 10 pounds I was proud of and happy to see, the problem was my ten pounds left when the stress stopped. My ten pounds left when I thought I was happy and my ten pounds left when I thought I finally had a handle on life. I had finally seen 285 and I was loving it. It was the best thing in the world. But like all good things that come quickly, leave you quickly as well.

            I had quickly gained my ten pounds and then some, I know I had to be 300 pounds at least once. Although I never actually seen the number, I felt the weight. It wasn’t until June that I made my decision to finally have control over my life. I went to a support group that change my way of thinking and how I truthfully felt about myself. As much as I want to be happy, and claim happiness, I wasn’t and in that moment I saw who I was and took it in at face value.

            The next couple of months breezed by for me, what felt like an eternity was only a couple of weeks at away at that point. I was scared and excited but most of all curious of who this new girl would be. Would she be pretty? Would she be nice? Will she be the same person? Will she be happy? Most of all, will she succeed? After years of failing will she finally succeed? As I lay on this table I know that whatever happens I know I have tried. I know that I finally stopped having pride and took in the fact that I needed help. This was the help, the help that was finally going to show me who the real me is.