Me, myself, and I

Dear me,

Remember being able to walk long distances without thinking about it, without running out of energy after only a few minutes?  Remember when you could walk home from more than 2 miles away without having to plan it, and without having to practically go comatose when you arrived?  When you weren’t so fat that you didn’t have to scope out a restaurant to make sure the tables weren’t so close together that you wouldn’t be able to walk between them?  When every joint didn’t creak and scream bloody murder if you sat in the same position for too long?  Remember when you felt like you had some control over your body?  

I remember that, even though it seems like you never felt like you had control over this thing called your body, other people were always talking about how you looked, how fat you were, how you shouldn’t wear certain things like horizontal stripes because they make you look fatter.  I remember your mother and grandmother and the aunts talking about when you were going to lose that baby fat, like you weren’t even there.  That hurt, as though you were invisible but according to them you were so huge that you would soon be unlovable.  You wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with you, and knew that you were a disappointment.  You didn’t know what to do to fix any of it, but knew that you were not enough to satisfy anyone.  

Then in the 70s, after grandmother died and after the divorce, you were absolutely sure that nobody stuck around and that you would probably always be left behind.  That kind of sucked, and you didn’t know how to be anybody else but who you were.  There was no other body to step into, you couldn’t fit into the clothes you wanted to wear, couldn’t fit your legs into those boots you wanted so badly.  You just didn’t fit. In so many ways, you didn’t fit.  

But so now what?  You still don’t quite feel as though you fit, and now you’re fatter than you ever thought you were at 13 and you’re still not quite sure of how to fix that.  So now, you’ve got a fatty liver and gall stones and saggy tits and a gut that will not be restrained by any garment except sweat pants.  You’re old and more tired than someone twice your age, if people can even live that long.  

I want to breathe life back into you, but you have to inhale.  I want to let you know there was nothing inherently wrong with you, then or now.  I want you to breathe, and not hold your breath as you’ve been doing since childhood, waiting for the insult or the physical blow and knowing that you can’t do anything to stop it.  Take heart, and know they were fucked up and that hurt people hurt people.  Know that what doesn’t fit is your heart, because it is too large for this container that is too small.  Having an oversized heart is not a function of your being wrong, and too big. It’s a function of the world being too inadequate for a heart so big.