I really am THAT FAT.

Good morning. I've aroused from my coma-like slumber on LilCherie's amazingly comfy couch, poured myself a cup of coffee with gratitude to LilCherie's hubby for making it, gave LilCherie's angelic son a mint, had my morning cigarette...

...and then was blasted with the post-traumatic like flashback of the image of myself captured by LilCherie's camera during events taking place over the past six months or so. LilCherie had gotten 8 rolls of film developed and innocently, we broke into the pile, mentally salivating over the fun and frivolity that surely lay within. I think it must have been there, but my eyes and brain were immediately scalded with the image of myself in all my fatness staring back at me. It was unbelievable! I simply cannot believe I am really that fat!

But, as LilCherie and discussed, it has to be true, because everyone else in the photo looks just like they do in everyday life. LilCherie looks great, J. looks great, Tingle looks great....and I look like a walrus sunning myself on a rock. LilCherie said that she, too, felt that way when looking at herself.

That led me to think about what kind of self-delusion I must unconciously participate in in order to get myself out the door every morning. The sad fact of the matter is, when I left the house for those events--a wedding in LilCherie's family, the Halloween party, sight-seeing at Niagara Falls with LilCherie and Tingle--I honestly thought I looked pretty damn good. How did my brain make that jump?

I have heard of body dysmorphic disorder, where people with eating disorders think they are fat even though they weigh 72 pounds and are 6 feet tall. I must have the opposite. When I look in the mirror, somehow I manage to look past the last 120 pounds I've gained and still see the normal-sized Depressionista from 15 years ago, and moreover, do it without conscious thought.

The most horrifying irony of it all is that I not only look fat, but in many photos, I look at least 7 months pregnant, which especially touchy for someone who has struggled with infertility and lost a baby mid-pregnancy. THANK GOD nobody has (recently) asked me when I'm due. How it's possible, I don't know, but it kind of explains some of the dirtier-than-usual looks I get when I smoke in public. People probably think I'm subjecting my poor fetus to asphyxiation. Nope, folks, I'm just FAT! That's not a fetus in there, it's just the physical manifestation of my insecurities, my self-medicating through food, my general lack of concern for myself and my fuck-it attitude toward life. No wonder J. doesn't want to do me anymore....it would be like fucking a huge Pillsbury Doughboy with zits. I need to get some kind of placard or big patch for my coat that says "Not pregnant...Just FAT! Now leave me alone while I smoke!"

I've never deluded myself into thinking that I was ever going to be some lithe, slender beauty. But I also never believed that I would look like a white Nell Carter.

Sadly, even in my horror, I am pretty much unmotivated to do a damn thing about it. I guess I really just don't care a whole lot about myself, and that's a pretty deep realization to deal with.