Warning: Coarse language and much whining ahead, but I didn’t want a Pit response so I’m putting it here.
Second warning: long. There’s no way I can write everything I feel about this with the immediacy that this demands. Please bear with me.
Once again I find myself looking at my gut in disgust. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m a 20 year old gayboy, tall, weight proportional to height, with a decent face (if I do say so myself) now that the zits are clearing up, actually quite bishie-like in many respects. I don’t smoke or drink, and I take public transit or walk to all my appointments.
But I also have a gut. And man-boobs. GODDAMMIT.
And all of this wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have a raised consciousness to go with it. I like the rest of my body and I love my mind and I know that there’s more to my being than my physical appearance and I like being judged on my merits as a person and I appreciate who I’m becoming, but there’s still those inches.
Now if I didn’t have a raised consciousness, I’d have read the damn magazines a long time ago, done the crunches, jogged, gotten a gym membership, whatever. But whenever I lie down to do crunches, I get so angry with myself for getting coopted by the Appearance Mafia. And then I get angry with myself for making excuses. And then I get angry with myself for being so weak as to care about my appearence, and then I get angry with myself for not having any willpower and making sophisticated rationalizations, and it all boils down to being ANGRY AND HATING MYSELF.
I’m so paranoid that if I did anything about my gut, I’ll end up puking up my meals or in an asylum or anorexic or having plastic surgery or something. And I simply know that it’s not going to go away by itself.
I can’t love the motherfucker. It’s UGLY. Okay, I know there are people who like it, but I DON’T. Sure, sometimes I like guys with one, but NOT MYSELF. And it isn’t because of what other people think - I already FUCK enough that I know that other people don’t give a toss. I try to accept myself for my natural shape and I DO. ALL THE REST OF IT.
I just want to wear a goddamn HALTER TOP for once in my life. I want to wear a goddann T-SHIRT for once in my life without it looking like the FUCKING PLANETARIUM. I want to TAKE OFF MY SHIRT WHILE DANCING without everyone else on the room being on Ecstacy first. I just want to ENJOY MYSELF. Is that such a sin?! Is that so self-hating and retrograde?!
GODDAMMIT! It’s a stupid GUT, for chrissakes. Why am I giving myself complexes about it? But the problem is, I can’t just put up with it and be done with it, because it’s UGLY, and I can’t just get rid of it and be done with it, because that’s WRONG.
I was reading a magazine (that I got for free - no, I haven’t literally bought any of this - that’s a little much by all accounts), and it had suggestions about how to get rid of your gut. And in a moment of despair, I read them, and believed them, and tried doing some crunches (again), and then I got so fucking pissed off at the way the article was written (“just six months until bathing suit season, girlfriends! Quit making excuses and go to the gym - no pain, no gain!”) that I threw the motherfucker in the trash and ran out to the net café, whence this.
Jesus fucking Christ! Isn’t there anything in the middle? Is it too much to ask that I be able to just make myself look the way I want, and then stop, and not have it be self-loathing and retrograde and unfeminist and internalized-homophobia and bodyfascist and narcissistic and Cathy-cartoonish and all the rest of it?
Hostie de crisse de tabarnac de crisse de calice de putain de bordel de viarge, jme chie sur tout les tetes de marde qui me crissent tout cette crisse de ciboire de marde, hostie de TABARNAC!
Hmmm… I wonder if sacre is aerobic?