I'm with the band
I spent this evening at the Cleveland Irish Festival watching some of my favorite bands. The music was awesome. Loud and lively. I clapped and bounced and danced.
I love the fact that their piper has a leopard-skin print pipe bag. That makes him, like, Piper McLeopardskins. Although, personally, I'm a fan of the lead singer. I don't usually find guys with really long hair hot, but he's a nice exception. A very nice exception.
I found some little pups as part of a "Dogs of Ireland" display. These little dudes were so cute and friendly I had to take pictures.
The other fun exhibit at the Irish fest was all of the skinny chicks there. It almost seemed as if every single anorexic-looking female was at the festival, and every one of them happened to walk right by me.
I know this is completely and utterly impossible. I get that. But I also realize that it can seem possible. I think back to last year at this time, when I had just been released from treatment and was still underweight and thin. There are definitely differences in my quality of life. But there's also a kind of messed-up yearning for that, for that sense of false confidence.
I try to think: what do I have to prove? I know I can starve myself. I know how to diet. I know how to exercise. Who the hell cares? I mean, really.
All right, I care. Sometimes. Okay, a lot of times, to be really honest. With all of the anti-obesity rhetoric, it's hard not to think of dietary restraint and thinness as somehow morally superior. But the thing is, I only do that for me. I don't judge other people based on their weight.
Case in point: the most gorgeous girl there that I saw was wearing a dress to look like the Irish flag. She was beautiful and curvy. She looked like a woman, not a girl.
When I was actively anorexic, I thought that once I was thin enough (though Ed always changed what "thin enough" was), I wouldn't have to worry about my weight anymore. Which was completely ludicrous, because the more weight I lost, the fatter I thought I was. Now I realize that the only chance I have of NOT worrying about my weight all the time is to eat normally and be at the weight my DNA wants me to be at.
I don't like this weight. I don't. But I'm trying to accept that the benefits of being at an anorexic weight aren't nearly what the benefits of being at my own healthy weight are.
In the meantime, however, I try to push through. And rock on, baby. Rock on.
5 comments:
Are those baby Irish wolfhounds? Gah, too cute!
Darwin,
Indeed I believe so. I was classifying them as poufy camera hogs. ;)
I want a puppy!!!!!!! OMG SO CUTE!
You said: I know this is completely and utterly impossible. I get that. But I also realize that it can seem possible.
And let me say it is so good... and timely... to hear you say that. I needed that validation! Last weekend, camping, I was having trouble eating my picnic lunch at the top of the waterfall we'd hiked to. My friends kept saying, "No one is staring, Libby..." They could accept that I was upset, but none of them "got" how real it was for me. My therapist and I discussed this week how you really believe those distortions... It's good to get that validation here, too.
I'm glad you had a good time! And man... next time... steal one of those puppies for me??!!!
Libby in DC
HA Piper McLeopardskins! And oooohhhh cute puppies.
Libby,
I guess I'll have to steal TWO puppies if you want one. One for you, one for me.
Sarah,
Yeah, well, their drummer is nicknamed "Crisco." One of my other fave bands has a bagpiper named Pete. I keep thinking, "OMG...Peter Piper!" I have more pics I'll save after I finish HP.
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