I grew up in San Antonio and I am fatter there than I am anywhere else. I am a little fatter in Austin, where I went to college, than I am in other places, but I pull it off better than I do in San Antonio. I am always very fat in my mother's house. I am fatter in Seattle than I am on the Eastside (where I currently reside). I am thinner downstairs in my own house than I am upstairs. I am always thinner in church than I am out in the world. Feeling forgiven makes me feel thinner.
I have accepted that it will always be so: being fatter some places and thinner others. I have understood that my perception makes my reality and alters it according to my mood and my circumstance. I am not an objectivist. I like Ayn Rand, but I don't subscribe to her theories, at least not where my belly is concerned. My upper arms vary minute by minute, mirror to mirror. I can gain 200 pounds in the span of an hour. I can acquire a pound per mile as I travel from one part of the country to another. Memories and insecurities add fat as surely as the lack of them slim me down to my true size.
I take my clothes off in the middle of the day to check their size. Not that it matters. The 4s or 8s or 6s don't matter. the P after the 8 makes me feel no better or a little better depending on my mood. Everything is judged by what is better a 4 regular or an 8 petite... Everything is that kind of trade off. I see what I want to see. I see what I can't bear to see.
At the dentist office I ask him to turn up the Nitrous because I'm not feeling it. I feel drunk when he says, "are you sure? You're pretty small." I say, I'm not paying extra for that, right? I wonder why he tries to flatter me, what his agenda might be. He's tricking me. They're laughing at me behind my back, he and the hygenist, that's what I think.
Sometimes I go into the bathroom and do what I need to do without ever catching my reflection in the mirror. Sometimes I can't stop staring.
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