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.
Here are some sweet pics of one of my favorite bands, Seven Nations:
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.