Fat Bastard #7

I’m a fat bastard. Well, not physically, but mentally. I’m not the thinnest person in the world, but I definitely don’t look like this on the outside, but my internal dialog is something completely different. 

In my line of work, being morbidly obese challenges me, makes my job harder. And making my job harder, well it can cost you your life. My job is keeping you alive. And the less you care about yourself, the fatter you get, the more likely you are to have issues when I’m taking care of you. These issues can literally kill you, in spite of my best efforts. 

So let’s get to the root of the obesity issue. What causes it. Well, habits cause it. Habits of not exercising, poor diet, sedentary lifestyle; calories in vs calories used. It’s really that simple. Change your habits, change your life. 

But it’s really hard. It’s habits you started when you were a kid, your parents feed you TV dinners, didn’t sign you up for sports, they sat around every night and were not active. You weren’t good at basic sports in gym. You were pudgy and picked last. You learned to hate running around. It’s become engrained. And now you weigh twice what your body was designed to carry around (this is extremely common, and these aren’t the biggest people we see). And your joints hurt, your back hurts constantly. So you can’t work out. Hell, you’ve never learned how to. You don’t know where to start. And when you start, nothing changes for a while, or you platue, and quit. Because it’s too hard, because you’re just too damn fat. So there you go. You’re going to die younger than your healthy peers because of your lack of coping, lack of trying, lack of caring enough to get thru the struggles. 

And you know it. Everyone around you knows it. They try not to say anything to you for fear of hurting you. Your doctors mention it, but don’t push. Kids stare, you feel it. People are always watching the fat guy. And you hate it. You hate that you let yourself get this way. Hate that you won’t change. Can’t change. Hate buying new clothes, always bigger. Saving old stuff in hopes that your next fad diet will stick, that you can fit into those pants, still bigger than they should be, may fit again someday. Until the next pot luck, cookie day, bad day, ice cream craving, the list just goes on and on. And you hate knowing it won’t change. 

How do I know these things? Because, even in my trim BMI of 27, athletic and tall, less than 20% body fat dad bod, I feel the same feelings. Only not about my body, which I wish was more tone and thinner, without scars and asymmetrical ribs, I feel it about my mind. My internal dialog. I feel like the fat sweaty stinky guy you see “walking” into Golden Corral for dinner alone. 

See, all my issues are the same as the fat guy. They are all habits, genetics, tendencies, traits that are terrible for me, that make it hard to be around me. That will eventually kill me. The self loathing is tremendous. I feel like everyone around doesn’t see the real me. Not like the fat girl who wants a friend to see the kind person they are, but I want people to see the failure I see in myself. Don’t look at the outside, don’t tell me the success I have, the amazing career, out of this world wife, awesome kids. A life people would dream of. Look at the dark spots, the failures. The shortcomings. 


I look at people I work with, who have a much harder life, less income, less fortunate, rough lives, single moms, working dad’s w stay at home wives, kids with lifetime disabilities. I’m jealous of them. They have confidence in themselves. About everything. I know I can do my job. I’m great at it. I’m sought after. It’s a task. I am not confident in me. I have been trained that good enough isn’t acceptable. I’ve been trained those around me haven’t fulfilled their dreams because of me. These things aren’t really true, but it’s truly how I feel. 

So what does that mean? Stop being a bitch man, you have shit people would kill for. Well it means I’m self destructive. When I let my guard down, I try and destroy the things I don’t think I’m worthy of, including my family. Especially my wife. I feel so unworthy of her. She is a princess and I am a toad. And then I get mad bc I can’t understand why she wants me. Then I test that love. When I don’t get what I hope for, I start a negative cycle in which I feel more unworthy of her. And this is where I drink. To get drunk at her. To lose my shit at her. 

I push to test her love. To see if she really does love me. How much can I push to see? How much can I expose of my past and how much can she love me. Because I don’t love me that much, I know she doesnt either. She cant. Again, sober me knows not to do this. Drunk me doesn’t. Drunk me expects her to be like everyone else and lie, at some point come to where I have exhausted their love.

So, now that I have pushed this far, and I’ve found her breaking point. And I realize why I do this, but I hope I can take it all back, and that she sees, it’s not me. 


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