Friday, you are officially on notice

Today has been a day of triggers. People questioning my eating habits (not in a “you eat too much way” but in a “why aren’t you eating more?” way, which is nice but not because hi, if I could make this food and myself invisible so you couldn’t see it and point it out to me that I have to eat to not die, I would in a heartbeat), people questioning the nature of my friendship with The BFF (I find this incredibly exhausting), and other things that I’m not comfortable discussing with all of you. Couple that with lunch with someone I know and love but am not insanely comfortable around (my deal, not hers) and a less-than-positive response from my professor on this week’s lesson, and you’ve got…me. A lump-in-the-throat near-tears wreck who wants to either go home and drink an entire bottle of wine in one sitting, or sit in the mall and get lost amongst a bunch of strangers.

When I started seeing a therapist a few years ago (god, do I ever miss him), he explained depression this way: small things, like a button falling off your pants, becomes a catastrophic event that ruins the entire day. The button example is mine. One day, shortly before my first therapy appointment, I was in the bathroom at work and the button fell off my pants and I had to walk down to Eckerd’s to get a little sewing kit so I could fix it. This ruined my entire day. I was humiliated and angry and everything seemed to go wrong after that. I have a lot of days like that now. More than I used to, I think. Right now I feel justified in having some pretty shitty days back-to-back. Things aren’t going so well, so little reminders of things that are generally upsetting become huge flags waving in my damn face.

We’re not lesbians and contrary to popular belief, fat people don’t stuff their faces at every single fucking meal, I do not want to wear a shirt that tells everyone what happened to me 11 years ago, and yeah, next time you give me half-assed instructions on how to do something, don’t get pissed off when I ask you for fucking clarification, okay?


Posted on April 4, 2008, in Adventures with Sparkle Pants, All about Sparkle Pants, You made baby Jesus cry!. Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. Sweetie. *hugs* You know I love you. And I know what I’m about to say is going to make you mad because I’ve been in your shoes and will be again…. but I’ve been working really hard to see the positive in life sometimes… to understand that sometimes my reactions also say something about me.

    Maybe the person was only concerned about your health when asking about food. Food is important, and you do need to eat a certain amount to keep your metabolism functioning properly and your brain chemicals balanced. My guess is that it had nothing to do with weight. I don’t know about you or anyone else, but I don’t go around thinking about how big people are. Yes, I know some do this, but I don’t. I have never told a fat joke in my life, I have never laughed at a fat joke in my life. I have never refused to date someone because of their size. What I have done is asked questions about people’s health when I love them and want them to live a long time. Because I know that loss of interest in food can also be a sign of depression. And it had nothing to do with their size. I could care less if they were 300…400 pounds.

    And as for the thing with you and Eireann…. again, I don’t think people should be punished for asking you to define your relationship. I understand it is tiring. I often got tired of explaining my relationship with Shaun, and it gets tiring explaining Meron’s adoption to everyone just because they can tell she is adopted since we look different. But on the other hand, I know that they are just asking. They are *trying* to understand, and me getting defensive about it is not going to help the situation.

    That all said; I do understand what it is like to be down, when it feels like you’re an open wound. And yes, it is annoying to explain something over and over and not have people understand. I guess I’m mostly just concerned that you assumed the person thought you were fat because they asked about food. I know I would be very sad (and more than a tad angry) if I had been the person that asked and then ran upon your blog entry.

    Please don’t hate me for the comment. I just felt a strong reaction to your post and thought it important to air my feelings.

  2. The only problem is that they usually DO mean to imply something – our relationship is unusual and it must be made to fit into their neat little views of the world, and instead of thinking aha! they’re close friends, it’s wonderful, they come at us with accusatory glares and more often whispers and bitchiness and only LATER do we find out that everyone claims they KNEW we were lesbians…


  3. Well Miss Sparkle Pants, you’ve had a day. And a string of days where things don’t seem to go right, and yes, that makes one feel depressed. Been there. So, wallow in it for a bit and wake up one day and don’t dwell on it. I’ve been in therapy for years and years and years, and I’m finally waking up on the right side of the bed most days. It takes time.

    As for eating things – I think you know I’m an alcoholic in recovery. I get irritated greatly at people who STILL AFTER ALL THIS TIME (yeah, a frickin year – big deal) if I’m still sober. It’s a tough road.

    Hang in there baby, you’ll make it.

  4. I’m sorry to hear that Friday was so lousey. Hopefully this Monday is full of better things like immense lottery winnings and…sorry I can’t think of anything else; I’m distracted by the goodness of an immense lottery winning.

    I can so relate to the people commenting on food thing. Honestly, I think it’s more about the person making the comment much of the time than it is about the person getting commented on. I’d say 9 times out of 10, people who have commented on how little I was eating, were really judging themselves because if I was eating a little bit, surely they must eat the same amount, even if they have a different amount of hunger. That doesn’t help with the gut reaction of self-conciousness factor, but it can help with the long-term contemplatey stuff.

    As for people who are jerks about the BFF situation…I say make up a wild tale to tell them about the nature of your relationship. Fill it with secret agents and ninjas and a set of secret documents being hidden from the Catholic Chur….oh wait, that one’s been done, but you get the idea. Anyone who is going to be an asswipe probably doesn’t need the truth. Those who ask because they want to figure out if you are taken or if they stand a chance with your foxy-self…well, that’s another matter.


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