Friday, August 24, 2012

Sorry, I am NOT sorry my legs are bigger than my arms!

Ever heard of "skinny jeans"? Sure you have...

Well, just how "skinny" do you have to be to fit into some of these "skinny jeans"? Here, I'll show you with the help of Dr. Dae Sheridan (

This photo was taken at a JC Penney's department store. And these are your average "skinny jeans" displayed on your average mannequin.


Do we NOT see what media, advertisements and society is doing to our psyche?!

What might your average teenage girl think when she walks down this aisle at JC Penney's? She'll probably think - "hmmm, I think I'd like a pair of those "skinny jeans"!" So, this same average teenager will likely grab her size and try them on. What do you think happens to the average teenager who tries on these "skinny jeans"?

I will tell you from my historical point of view because, like many other teenage girls out there, I had definitely been there before!

I will likely grab what I think is my size, probably about a 6, and I will grab a room. In this room, I will be faced by a horribly large mirror with horribly bright lights. I will probably be analyzing how horrible I feel about my lower half as I undress, even before attempting to try on these "skinny jeans". I'll slip in one leg, and I won't be able to pull it over my quadricep. I probably won't even attempt to include my other leg in this "try" cause I quickly know the result. I will pull them off and think, ughhh... I am not skinny enough - why can't I ever fit into these skinny jeans!? Everyone is wearing them, but I can't. I am too fat.

You know what historically came after that?

Guilt ----> Sadness ----> Unworthiness ----> Disgust ----> Low(no) self-esteem ----> Eating Disorder

Those, like me, who just so happen to have legs bigger than their arms will try to fit into this "skinny jean" style and end up feeling disappointed, feeling like there is something wrong with them, feeling inadequate and guilty.

Then they will diet, feel bad about themselves, think they are fat, etc, etc... you know what comes then? Depression, anxiety, eating disorders, wickedly low self-esteem... all thanks to society and its ridiculously absurd, media blasted, seriously unrealistic "skinny jean" standards!

Sure - some girls are naturally this thin. *SOME* - a few girls are naturally this size. 
And, to touch base on the other side of the equation, there are definitely girls out there that are depressed and feel unworthy just the same because they CAN'T gain weight... But, COME ON MEDIA... if I can easily recognize both sides, can't you!?!

These advertisements are for the general public; they are not just for *some* girls who are that size. Last time I checked, the average, general American girl has legs quite a bit larger than her forearm. 

Media, fashion, advertisement companies, magazines, modeling companies, etc... can you PLEASE acknowledge the general pubic in which you are trying to sell to. There is way more than one size - can you PLEASE lay off the "skinny jean" side.

Newsflash: America is full of Americans, not mannequins most likely mass-produced in China! And, OUR LEGS ARE BIGGER THAN OUR ARMS!!

SORRY, I am NOT sorry my legs are bigger than my arms!!

**Sign a petition HERE in regards to JC Penney's and other stores using more realistic mannequins!**

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

When I needed her, showering was the perfect excuse...

Showering was the perfect excuse...

I usually ate before I showered. If I ate before I showered, I'd be able to sneak away and use the noise of the shower to her benefit. The bathroom fan was perfect as an extra buffer to her quick, but grotesque release.

I particularly remember coming home late to my BBW (previously mentioned-long time HS/college sweetheart). I'd usually have to-go food for he and I, just the way he liked it. I didn't like it. I knew before I placed the order what was likely to happen...

I'd get home. Sometimes I helped prepare his plate. He'd be anxious and ready to eat; he had already smoked undoubtedly. Then it was my turn. I'd smoke marijuana as a quick and hot inhaled escape. I always wanted to escape. I wanted to escape from my feelings. I wanted to escape from the ones I already had and from the feelings I knew were coming. I'd smoke so I wouldn't feel so guilty about eating the food I'd brought home. Likely, I had eaten something around the Outback Steakhouse during my serving shift. I probably wasn't even really, literally hungry. I certainly wasn't thinking "Eat to Live!" Nah, the alternative.

I'd initially plan on eating half, eating less Outback bread, no dessert if I brought it home... Those plans sometimes (most times) go right out the window along with the smoke bled from the blunt. I would eat too much. I would, in the least, feel like I ate too much. Regardless, between the munchies and my ruthless mind, thoughts of eating most likely continued...

This is where purging came in to play... If I "got rid" of some, I'd have room for more. Or, if I got rid of some and refrained from giving into the compulsions of continuously consuming led by such a ruthless mind, I would win. I wouldn't be in trouble. I wouldn't be bad. i wouldn't be fat, guilty, disgusting, ugly... I would have escaped it. I already mentioned, I always wanted to escape. So...

I wouldn't always purge, but when I did, showering was the perfect excuse. I'd wait to shower until after I ate. As mentioned, I could get away with a lot with that background noise; she got away with a lot.

I can't quite describe it; those of you don't know Mia may never believe it anyway. But, I will try. Its like this panic. This panic that you know you have the answer in calming. This panic was led by a voice, figuratively speaking. This voice set a panic inside of me - in mind, in body. She, her, Mia... she would encourage me and tell me just do it. She would tell me it will fix everything. She wouldn't let up and she would definitely not let me get up if I made it to my knees, not without doing it.

Sometimes I'd make it out alive. Sometimes I would die a little more inside. Either way, I was guilty, and I felt that way. I either ate too much. Or I ate too much and threw it up. It was always lose, lose.

She surely served her purpose. That is certainly why I kept her around for so long. Wait... did I keep her? Or did she keep me?

Lets be honest. If you won't, I will. I kept her around. I never sent her an initial invite. I definitely didn't throw her a welcoming party. But, once I got to know her, I needed her. I wanted her.

You see, I lived a life of living to eat. But, it wasn't because I wanted to live that way. A part of me wants to say I don't know how it got to be that way, but a part of me knows I could write 10, 20 blogs that give pretty decent reasons and lead ups to eventually inviting her in. I didn't have control; I couldn't grab onto control with food. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn't do it. She helped me control. I finally found a way to control food. She was ugly and she was destructive and she was mean. But, I loved her. Like the best friend you always want to be around, I didn't know how to live without her after a while.

So, surely, she served her purpose. And that is certainly why I kept her around for so long... for 8 years so long.

Besides, who was I without she. At some point, I had forgotten. My life before her was a blur and life without her was something I could no longer imagine. Like life without a lover, friend, family member... I couldn't imagine life without her.

So, when I wanted her around, when I needed her around, showering (and maybe a little bit of pot) was the perfect excuse.