I'm terminal.

Everyone has something to say where body image is concerned. And since I am part of that great 'everyone' I thought it not only my right, but my duty to express my take on this subject. After all, this is my forum.

I think it is tragic that so many women are of the opinion that they are unattractive because they don't fit into this abstract mold that has been created by popular culture. I, since birth, have existed outside this mold. I spent my entire adolesence with my face pressed up against this big glass barier that separated me from all those that fit in, that belonged, that were loved and covetted based solely on how perfectly they fit into that mold.

This is where it gets a bit more personal: I grew up in a lower class neighborhood in Modesto, CA. A poor, overweight, monstrously tall child raised by her alcoholic and mentally ill grandmother. Hell if I wasn't born to do anything but not fit in.

I've been doing a lot of thinking these days about this subject. The catalyst has been this massive change in the way I view my relationship to food. I am addicted. I have stuffed my pain and disappointment down, swallowed it, and topped it with cake and cheese and chocolate and burgers and soda. Food can numb better than just about anything. I know I am not alone in this addiction, millions of us on this planet are clinging to this life raft trying to stay afloat. I don't want anything in my life to have that kind of control over me, except love.

This epic change began about four weeks ago when I took a trip to New Jersey for an all expense paid trip to Dr Joel Furhman's week-long immersion program. My god, the things I learned. I sat through lectures and group meals and activities and came home in an enlightened state. Inspired with eyes wide open. I want to live a long time, I want to have little ones one day and I want to be able to chase those little buttholes and play and feel as young in my body as I do in my mind.

This brings me to the meat of this post: I have begun to lose weight and I am not exactly happy about it. I know I have said it before, but I believe it bears repeating: It took me so fucking long to get to this point where I love myself just as I am. I am just as I am meant to be. I am fat. I am beautiful. I am fun and funny. I am a little obnoxious and loud. I am extremely liberal and a little uptight. I have bad breath in the morning (and sometimes in the evening and even in the afternoon). All of these things are truly who I am and I think all of that weirdness makes a pretty freaking awesome package. And now that I've begun to start a thinning process, unintentionally mind you, I am faced with losing a huge part of myself. It hurts like hell. It's like I'm mourning the loss of a friend.

Then there's the closet. I go in there and look around at all my favorite little babies and wonder how much more time we have together, I'm terminal.

They were all there for me to hug me in all the right places and show me just how pretty I can be.