Over the last couple of years, as I’ve been fat and complacent (among other things), it’s occurred to me: I don’t really know what I look like. As someone who has had the same face and body parts my entire life, you can imagine what a disorienting feeling it is to realize that. I mean, sure, I could describe myself the way my license does: gender, height, weight, eye color, hair color. What I can’t do is tell you what type of figure I have. My frame is buried under layers of blubber.
Since the first time I really tried losing weight, I formulated this idea that losing weight is like unwrapping a present. Every 15-20 pounds gone reveals a new thing I never knew about myself. For instance, now that the chipmunk cheeks and extra chin are gone, I’ve learned that I have a heart-shaped face. I’ve learned that my earring holes aren’t as lopsided as I thought they were, now that I can see both sets at the same time without turning my head. I’ve learned that my smile isn’t actually crooked, it was just restricted in the amount of my face it could spread across by my face fat. (Who knew that was even possible?!) Y’know, this girl actually kinda cleans up kinda nice.
As a woman, I’ve never been able to have fun dressing up the way my girlfriends do. I’ve avoided dresses like the plague, since all they seem to do is accentuate my bizarre proportions in the most unflattering ways. I’ve chosen flats over heels, in spite of my impressive shoe collection, because of the strain that heels put on my poor legs and feet that had to support my weight while balancing on tip-toe. I’ve scarcely bothered doing hair or makeup because A) the rest of the package wasn’t put together, so why bother, and B) it doesn’t take much for an extra-obese chick to start sweating, sending the carefully stylized details down the drain in a river of perspiration. I’ve picked out clothes that would hide my rolls, puffs, and chubs, which is incredibly limiting to what one can wear. Those cute little belts that cinch at the waist? Not this girl. I’ll take a solid-colored tent with sleeves, please.
In short, I’ve been a frumpy, dumpy, lumpy mess. To the extreme. Frumptastic.
Now, I’m discovering something kind of alarming: I’m becoming less hideous. I actually might be kind of… pretty?!
I’ve mentioned before that I’ve been at this for real since early April. To date, I’ve ditched just shy of 50 pounds of my fat-disguise. It feels great, and it’s finally starting to look that way.
The Transformer bet I’m in on Diet Bet ends in October, a few days before my birthday. I’ll be that much farther through the wrapping paper.
I can’t wait to see what I got myself this year.