Pictures

A few weeks ago I did something that, for me, was a little bit brave.  It was a bit of a turning point as well, a turning point in the way that I think about myself, the way that I view myself.

I changed my profile picture on Facebook.

I know that many of you are thinking, "How on earth does that make you brave?" because it is seemingly an innocuous thing. But for me, it was a little bit brave.

The picture that I had been using as my profile picture was "old" me.  Pre-illness me.  The me that I was before I was broken.

The lie that I told myself was that I wanted a daily reminder of the girl that I was trying to get back to, the girl I was trying to be again.  That audacious, outgoing, flirty, sassy girl.

The truth was that I didn't want people to see me as I am, only as I was.  The people I grew up with, the people I rarely see, the people I never see ... I wanted them to remember me as I had been.

I have been telling myself for so long that I want to get back to that girl, to be her again. I've chastised myself at every turn for not being able to be her again, for not being able to find that part of me.  I've been angry, and sad, and hurt that she has been lost to me.

I've been yearning for someone who will see me, really see me, and all the while I was trying to hide.  How could someone else see me when I couldn't even see myself?

I realized a long while ago that I don't actually want to be that girl again.  She was great, don't get me wrong, but she was a bit of an idiot.  She spent a lot of time doing what she was "supposed" to do, searching for what she was "supposed" to like, being what she was "supposed" to be.  Looking back I can see exactly why happiness held only surface value for her, why she chose the wrong things, why no one saw her.  She was so concerned with the "supposed" to that the "actually want" went unrecognized.

And she did it in all things.

I don't want to be that girl anymore.

I no longer want to keep doing what I've always done just because I once wanted to do it.  Things change, wants change, needs change.  I've changed.

Over that past year I have been recognizing, finally, things that I want, actually want.  I've been noticing the things that I used to say that I wanted because I was "supposed" to want them, and realizing that I really don't want them.  Probably never really did.

I chose a career that I love, still love, for the most part.  But different aspects of my career have taken the focus from my original love, and that's OK.  I had a moment a few months ago where I realized that my love had changed and I grieved.  But then I celebrated, because I realized that something else makes me happier, something else makes me float. I don't have to do what I've always done, just because I've always done it.  I can evolve into something new. And I have.

I have had a habit in my life of putting my focus on one thing, and then sticking to that one thing even after it proves to be other than what I want.  I stick because I'm "supposed" to.

I'm done with that now.

I changed my picture to one that looks like me as I am because I want to be seen as I am, scary as that is. I don't want to be that girl anymore.  I want to be me.

I am still outgoing, just nicer about it.  I am flirty.  I'm very sassy.  And I'm still audacious. But I'm also a whole lot more, and I like who I am now.

I've been through some ups and downs with this process, sticking to something out of habit, but for the most part...

I see me.  Finally.

And because I see me, someone else does too.

It's a little bit awkward writing about him here because I know that he will read this (hi, hot stuff!), but I won't say anything that I haven't already said to him, so I should be OK.

See, I met a man.  He looks at me and sees.  And I see him back.

I fell for him when he took me to a bookstore, though I didn't realize it until much later.  He makes me giddy.  He makes me happy.  He makes me laugh.

His world is ... complicated, which makes this adventure with him less than simple, but I'm not going anywhere. I'm not sure exactly how I fit into his world, but I'm also not sure that I need to know that yet.  We've been seeing each other for a little over three months, so we have time to figure those things out. 

I see him as he is. He is open and honest with me, which can be terrifying at times but is so refreshing!

The more this man looks at me and sees, the more I want to see myself.  As I am, not as I was.  And the more I want to see him, too.  I want to see all the sides of him, even the weird ones and the cranky ones, because together they make him.  And he is amazing.

I wasn't expecting him.  I wasn't prepared for him.  But man am I glad I found him.

So a few weeks ago I changed my profile picture.  It was a long overdue step in this process of self-acceptance, but that's OK.  The world can see me as I am, finally.

Because I can see myself now.

And I see him.

Flirting

I'm a big flirt.  I've always been a big flirt. 

These last few years my flirtations have fallen on deaf ears for the most part.  I smile at men on the street and their eyes slide right over me.  I get saucy with a man at a bar or in a line and he suddenly has urgent messages on his phone. 

And it's not just flirting and men!  Women completely ignore me in conversation. I have asked random women to please hand me something or pass something my way and they simply glance at one another as though I were a ghost.

I can say, "Excuse me," to a person who is blocking my path and they look me up and down with a general look of distaste, then they shift about an inch.  Really?  You just looked at me and you think an inch is enough room? There is a general consensus that yes, an inch is plenty of room for my fat ass to squeeze through as an inch is usually all I am allowed.

Things like this have always bothered me, mostly because I have this aspect to my personality that makes people talk to me.  Random people on the street will tell me their life story, people in line at a store will explain about their underwear problems, my seat-mate on a train will have no problem talking about their sex life.  But if I make the approach, or if I am the one requesting, people often completely ignore me.

The amazing thing about being a fat woman is that the bigger you are the more invisible you become.

And this is especially true where flirting enters the picture.

It can be a little funny, watching a guy try not to visibly freak out when I flirt, watching him search for a hasty exit without being too rude. But only a little funny.

So I was completely caught by surprise when a man flirted with me on the train the other day!  I didn't really know what to do with myself.

I have seen him before on the train and he always catches my eye and smiles.  I hadn't really thought anything of it, until the other day.

We were standing in the scrum to get onto the train when I noticed that the man I was standing next to had his attention on me.  I glanced up at him to find him looking directly at me, a slight look of surprise on his face, like he'd been looking for me and I just happened to appear.

"Hi!" he said with a smile.

"Hi!" I replied. 

He then proceeded to block a path for me to get onto the train before him.  I smiled and thanked him (it was quite gallant) and got on the train. I entered through the door on the left but I turned right to go into the opposite car.  I found my way to a seat by the window.  As I settled in I noticed that he had followed me into the opposite car and was just sitting in a seat a row away facing me, but positioned so that he could see me between the seats.  I smiled at him again as our eyes met and we sat.

"Surely this is a coincidence," I thought. "He can't be following me."

But he was.

As the train made its way toward the city I settled in to enjoy my book. Every so often I would glance up to catch him looking at me. We were too far away to chat, but I always smiled.  So did he.

When we finally arrived in the city he tried to remain seated while I made my way into the aisle but a very polite woman insisted that he go in front of her.  When he reached the bottom of the short stairway in the train he turned to look for me and he smiled such a smile when he saw that I was looking at him.  I actually blushed (I never blush).

As often happens in New York we were separated by the crowd heading up into Penn Station and we lost each other on the upper floors, try as we might to keep each other in our sights. 

I must admit it was the most amazing feeling.  To be flirted with and smiled at and to feel his energy flowing at me.  The feeling stayed with me all day, making me giddy and effervescent.  I couldn't put a finger on exactly what the feeling was, but I liked it.

Then yesterday I was dealing with one of the move-an-inch-out-of-the-way people, sighing as I tried to explain, yet again, that my body is too large to fit through that tiny space, and I realized what that feeling was.  I have become so used to being invisible, so used to being derided and ignored, that I had forgotten what it felt like to be me. 

That feeling that I felt was the feeling of being me.

I am the same me I have always been; the same flirt, the same sass, the same ... me.  In all the illness and drugs, and with all this fat that I have become I had forgotten that feeling. I had forgotten what it felt like to get that kind of attention from strangers.

But a man flirted with me on the train.  He made a path for me, smiled at me, made sure he always knew where I was.  He reminded me that I like being me. 

He smiled at me, and I remembered.

Nice

So it turns out that there are still nice men out there in the world.

He reached out to me a few weeks ago, chatting about our mutual commuter woes.  He is one of the only men who didn't immediately jump to discussions of sex or lewdness, instead making me giggle about our shared interests.

When I sent him my standard just-to-let-you-know-I'm-fat-so-you-don't-freak-out-later text, he is the only man, so far, to respond with, "Why do you think I reached out to you?" I almost died.

We started chatting and agreed to meet for dinner at a local restaurant, at which we ended up laughing and talking for hours.  It turns out, he is a complete gentleman.

We have gone on several dates since, chatting and laughing all the while.  He is incredibly nice and he treats me really well.  I'm not at all used to this.  This is a whole new world for me.

First of all, he refuses to let me pay for dinner.  He has taken me to some very nice places and he won't let me pay!  Even when it had been decided prior to the date that I would be buying him dinner, he grabbed the check and wouldn't hear of it!  What world is this?

He doesn't laugh at me when I go all Fan-Girl about a book or show, even going so far as to encourage it.  And I am a super geeky Fan-Girl.  My ex, while a Fan-Boy himself, thought it was a tad ridiculous for a chick to be such a fan.

This man didn't look askance at me when I explained that, while playing fantasy RPGs, I like to play as a thief, sneaking around and shooting foes from afar with my bow and arrow.  He thought that that was a perfectly logical choice and didn't try to convince me otherwise.  Most men think it odd that I like to play fantasy RPGs to begin with.

He doesn't think it strange that I like Marvel movies and shows, or that I can hold deep, philosophical discussions about Star Wars.  He just goes with it.

He teases me in the best ways and makes me feel like a girl.

He loves my body!  He prefers larger women and he thinks I'm sexy.  He tells me that I'm "super cute."  He says, "You are so hot!"  And he means it!  Baffling. 

He sees me!  He sees me and he likes me anyway.

But the best thing about this man, so far, is that he took me on the perfect date.

He picked me up in the late morning and we headed out to a place about 20 minutes from my house.  He chose this place, he said, because on our second date he mentioned something called a gastro pub and I had never been to one.  It was a lovely spot that used to be a train station so the architecture and ambiance were really cool.  We talked and laughed with ease through the meal.  As we exited the pub I pulled him close and briefly kissed him, a chaste moment to thank him for the meal.  He smiled at me like I was the most amazing thing. I was really taken aback by his look, I don't think any man has ever looked at me like that before.

He took my hand and we started walking around the neighborhood a bit.  As we came to a corner he said, "So, I really brought you here because I wanted you to see something.  I want you opinion of it."

"OK," I said, totally curious.

We turned the corner and I came face to face with an honest-to-God, old-fashioned, beatnik-employees, hand-written-signage, get-lost-among-the-stacks bookstore! He brought me to a bookstore!!

I may have teared up a bit.

We went inside and began to explore.  I was in awe, exclaiming about the smell of the books and the haphazard arrangements.  I kept looking at him and saying, "You brought me to a bookstore!"  It was amazing.

You have to understand, this man doesn't read for pleasure.  We had talked about books for maybe two minutes on our first date and he could feel my passion for them, so he brought me to this wonderful place filled with books!

We wandered through the stacks, laughing about some of the titles we came across.  I was giddy with delight.  He stole kisses in the corners, hiding from the other shoppers like we were teenagers. It was unbelievable.  And the way he looks at me!  It's like he's never seen anything quite like me - half desire and half confusion or awe.  I really like the way he looks at me.

I have never been on a date like this, where I was the consideration, I was the focus.  He went out of his way to give me something he knew I would love.  What world is this?

We spent the whole day together, talking, laughing, kissing, and it was amazing.  This man, this man, took me on a perfect date.

We have seen each other a few times since that day, and will hopefully keep seeing each other.  He really is so nice.

I called my best friend to tell her all about the date, about him, and how weird it is for a man to treat me like this.  I was complaining that he wouldn't let me pay for dinner, even when it was the plan, and she just laughed.

She said, "Katy, it's about time that a man was nice to you.  Now, you just have to calm the hell down and let him be nice to you!"

"But..."

"No... no, no... you have to let him.  I know it's weird, but just let him.  This is how real men behave."

His world is ... complicated ... but I like him.  I really like him.  I like how he treats me. I like that he's so nice to me.  I like that he's gallant and won't let me pay for dinner (even though it was the plan!).  But I'm not at all used to this kind of treatment.

I am especially not used to a man who looks at me and sees.  He notices things, he remembers moments.  He sees me and he likes me anyway.  

And he brings me to bookstores.

I know that I haven't been doing this online dating thing for very long, and I know that I have met some ... interesting men (some serious doozies, I'll tell ya), but this man is different.  He's kind, and intelligent, and thoughtful. He's funny and interesting. I find him fascinating.

And he seems to like me and he has no problem showing it, which is also new territory for me. He holds my hand, he kisses me, he touches my face.  Seriously, what world is this?

I like this man.

I love spending time with him.  I hope to have many, many more dates with him (and I will find a way to buy him dinner if it kills me!).

I don't want to rush into anything, I don't want to overwhelm either of us, so slow and steady it is.

I had no idea that there were men like this outside of fiction, at least men like this who also like me.  But this man, this man, exists.  And he is kind.

And so I will do my best to allow him to treat me well and I will go out of my way to treat him well in return. Of course the old insecurities resurface, the feeling that I don't actually deserve to be treated well or with respect due to my size or my past, but I'm trying to stomp them down as best I can.  My best friend keeps pointing out that I believe that everyone deserves to be loved (which is true). Then she has to remind me that I am also an everyone. 

I try to imagine that I deserve to be loved, that I too deserve happiness.  Most of the time I just accept that I've done something, or been something than negated that option.  This man makes me think that there my in fact still be hope for me.

He looks at me and sees.

And he likes me anyway.

Mixed Messages

So... I know it's been a minute since my last post, but I needed a break for a moment.  If you read it then you know that my man from out of town and I had a huge fight and ended our relationship for a while and I needed to regroup.

I'm better now, and he has worked very hard to keep me in his life, so he gets one mulligan.  He gets that one terrible reaction.

Now, I know that I am an extremely forgiving person (my best friend would say that I am way too forgiving, but I'm OK with that), and he really did react badly, but I'm giving him this one.  We have spent a lot of time discussing what happened and why, how his reaction affected me, and why it will never happen again.  We slowed way down, he's been working his ass off, so I have decided to give him another chance.  Of all the men I've met and/or talked to, he is the one that I click with the most, so I'm going to take the gamble.

Life is more fun when you take chances on people.

I was a little trepidatious about explaining my forgiveness, but it's who I am.

But that's not really what I want to talk about today.  I want to talk about clothes. 

The weather is getting warmer and the clothes are getting smaller.  For a girl like me, that is usually a terrifying notion.  I don't want to show any more of my body than I have to, I don't want to make other people have to look at my body like that.  It's just not fair to them, I mean, I don't have to look at me all day, other people do.  It's OK if I'm miserable and hot so long as they don't have to look at my body, right? It's OK if I feel like shit in an outfit I don't like so that other people are spared the sight of my fat, right?  It's OK for me to hide my personality in all black clothes on the hottest of days so that other people don't catch a glimpse of my displeasing form... right? 

(Can you see the sarcasm dripping?)

In the last several months I have had a spring to my step, a light in my smile, mostly due to this online dating experiment.  The men that I've met have all liked me in spite of my body, wanted to kiss me, hang out with me, play with me, even though my body is what it is, which is fat.  A few of them even want me for all of me, my body included, which freaks me out a bit. 

This new springiness and lightness have brought with them a girlishness as well.  I am suddenly wearing heels again.  I am wearing skirts (skirts I tell you!) and short ones!  I have nice pants and cleavage bearing shirts.  I am dressing like a girl and I like how it makes me feel.  I feel pretty.  I feel deserving.  I feel ... like me. 

At least until I get on Facebook.

Then I feel like shit. 

I see pictures like this one...

... which make me think that maybe I shouldn't be wearing skirts.  I mean, I don't have the body I want, I have the body I have.  So I guess that when it's hot I should cover my legs so as not to offend other people. Right?

I constantly see posts calling out fat women for wearing Yoga pants or sleeveless shirts.  What if that is the only thing that woman can wear?  What if that outfit makes her feel fabulous? What if that woman was feeling like crap today and just wanted to chill in her Yoga pants while running errands?  What if she is on her way to the gym for her daily workout/torture session, that she is doing her damnedest to improve her body, all unbeknownst to the random Facebook user who was offended that she dared wear Yoga pants outdoors?

And let's talk about the gym posts!  Do you have any idea what it's like to be fat and walk into a gym?  To be that brave?  To face the eye rolling, scoffing, disgusted looks, and "helpful" suggestions on how to lose the weight from people you've never met before, and have probably never had a weight issue in their lives?  Do you have any idea what it takes to do that? 

I see posts every day on Facebook about some fat person at the gym (how dare they be fat at the gym!) on a treadmill in front of the Facebook poster, forcing the poster to look at their fat ass while running. Or, even worse, those who post a picture of someone at the gym, some random person doing their workout, trying to get healthy, who had the audacity to be fat at the gym, or to wear an outfit that was displeasing to the picture taker.  What if that person in the all purple sweat suit loves purple, if purple makes them feel amazing, if wearing that all purple sweat suit is the thing that gets them through the workout? We all have that outfit, the one that makes us feel fabulous, or motivates us.  We've all worn it.  Hell, we've all worn it out of the house!  That purple person probably knows they look a bit like Barney, but if that's what it takes to get them to the gym...


I see so many posts by obviously perfect people concerning the outfits or physique of someone fat or ridiculous in their perfect eyes. Those perfect people are so offended by fat people, ugly people, ungroomed people, that they feel the need to publicly shame them on Facebook. But because they don't actually know the object of their ridicule it can seem anonymous somehow. 

And they don't know those people.  They don't know their story. They don't know whether the object of ridicule just went through a massive illness that left them fat and scared.  They don't know if the object just had some surgery that will force them into Yoga pants for a while.  They don't know if the object just lost 60 pounds and is feeling amazing and proud, only to face their rolling eyes and awful Facebook posts.  They just assume that the objects are lazy or stupid.  They just assume that the object should should know better. But they don't know those people.  They don't know.

But they do know me.  Many of these same people who complain about fat people and lazy people, that bitch about someone's outfit or having to look at someone's icky body at the gym, those same people tell me I'm beautiful.  They tell me that they love me, that I'm awesome.  That I'm their favorite. 

How can I possibly believe them?

How can I believe that if I suddenly decide to be brave enough to go to a gym that I won't end up a picture on their Facebook wall, pointing and laughing at the fat girl?  How can I believe that when they ridicule fat people for wearing too little clothing that they don't actually mean me? How can I believe anything they say to me? 

I mean it... how?

Because I don't believe them. If I have ever seen a post like that on someone's Facebook wall I assume that those are their true feelings about me, even if the post doesn't pertain to me.  I assume that, when they are disgusted by fat people, they are also disgusted by me.

Because, guess what?  I'm fat. 

If you are a member of the Beautiful People, the Magazine People, the Fashion People, it doesn't give you the right to dictate what the rest of us can and can't wear or do. I'm sorry to break it to you.

If you're offended by my fat, don't look at it.  If you're offended by my outfit, don't look at it.  If you're offended that I am at your gym, don't go there.

I know I'm fat.  You don't have to remind me.  Everyone who is fat already knows it. 

Posting about it on Facebook in order to make yourself feel better only serves to make you look like an asshole.

Everyone is only trying to get through the day in their own, individual way.  Let them.

I feel great nowadays.  I'm losing weight, wearing skirts, strutting in heels, and I like it.  I'm far from where I'd like to be, but I'm here now, and I like me. All those Facebook posts from the Beautiful People only serve to make me never want to leave the house.

Because the crux of it all is that I'm still the me that I've always been, I'm just a well insulated me now.  But if all you can see is the fat, then you are missing out on the person beneath.  And it's a shame, because I kinda rock.

And if you are one of those perfect people who like to post on Facebook about the awful, Yoga-pant-wearing, heel-strutting, gym-going, "fatties" out there, then you should know that I will never believe another word you say to me about how much you like me, admire me, whatever.

And it's a shame.

Sorry, I got a little ranty there, but it is ridiculous.  My people, my fellow "fatties" as others like to call us, should be able to wear whatever the hell we want to when we leave the house without the fear of ending up a meme on someone's Facebook wall.  We should be able to go to the gym without fear of someone posting about the "fatty" on the next machine, or how they had to follow the "fatty" in their circuit.  Because the gym is the place where we "fatties" are supposed to go in order to become a "thinny" right? I mean, isn't that the goal?  Isn't that what all the complaining is about, that there are too many "fatties" out there ruining your view?

There are days that I just don't want to leave the house because I can't take the ridicule anymore.  But there are other days that I just want to put on my short skirt, my high heels, and skip to work singing "Kiss my fat ass" all the way there.

Obviously today is one of the latter.

I implore you, though, to please think about what you post on your Facebook wall.  If you are complaining about us "fatties" you'd better make sure that no one you love is one of us, because I guarantee you they are taking it personally.  They aren't saying to themselves, "Well, I'm sure they mean everyone but me."  They know that you are talking about them, and it hurts.  And they won't believe you anymore when you tell them that you love them.

They just won't.

Scratch

Last Friday was the first official day of Spring and it snowed.

It snowed a lot, actually.  Several inches of snow were dumped on my life both actually and metaphorically.

See, on Friday everything fell apart and I have to start from scratch.

The fact that it snowed on the first day of Spring and the last day of my relationship with the man from another city is ironic, actually. He and I have been (supposedly) trying to meet for more than a month now, but each weekend his city was blanketed with several feet of snow.  Sometimes more than several feet.

It was basically Snowmageddon up there making travel all but impossible and postponing our meeting again and again.

It was verifiable and everything.  I couldn't blame him for not coming down amidst the white-out, nor could I be expected to go up there.  So we settled for talking on the phone and texting every day.  Neither of us were happy about it, or so it seemed, but it was our only option.

Or so it seemed.

Then, last Friday, the first day of Spring, the day when there were no more obstacles, he was going to come visiting.  Originally we were supposed to meet the weekend before but something happened and we didn't.  I told my best friend that if he and I didn't meet this week I was ending it.  I told her this before he bailed on the first scheduled meeting last weekend.  I informed her that if he and I didn't connect last week that I would be calling her, quite probably in hysterics, quite probably furious, be prepared.

I had a feeling.

He and I had made solid plans for Friday, the first day of Spring.  He was coming to New York both to visit a friend and to meet me.  In person.  For real.  No foolin'.

Ha.

The day began with texts about how excited he was to meet me, he couldn't wait to kiss me, he was going to leave around 1:00.  Then he texted, "I'm so sorry that we couldn't meet last weekend.  I hope nothing else happens."

Huh.  What an odd thing to say.   

My immediate thought was, "Yeah, he's not coming."

What I said was, "The only thing that's going to happen is that you are going to get in your car, drive to New York, and meet me."

He sent me a text at 1:00 to say that he was leaving.

At around 2:30 I received a, "Hey, watchadoing?" text.

Here it comes...

"I just got pulled over, ostensibly for speeding.  He's running my plates now."

Uh-huh.

Then I got an onslaught of texts: "I can't wait to meet you."  "I'm crazy about you."  "I've never felt this way about any woman, ever."  "I really feel in my heart that we are soul mates and will be in love for life."  Blah, blah, blah.

Then, "OMG!  You won't believe this!" he texted.  He proceeded to tell me that he has an outstanding ticket from eight years ago that has gone to warrant.  Because he was more than 50 miles from home they weren't going to tow his car, but he had to promise to go right to a courthouse and pay it or else.

Uh-huh.

I told him to call me when he got back on the road.  I knew he wasn't coming and was just playing along at this point.  I wanted to see how far it would go.

At around 6:30 he sent another text saying he paid everything but that it was going to take up to 36 hours to clear the system so he couldn't leave the state.  Then he suggested that I come to him, meet him half-way, or "maybe most of the way," and we could spend time together.

Nope.

I then asked him a question.  I should have asked this question months ago, but he got the benefit of the doubt due to the aforementioned Snowmageddon.  I've been wanting to ask him this question for a few weeks, regardless of the weather.  But I was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

"Do you have a secret that is keeping us from meeting?  Some big thing that you're hiding? Has it been more than just random happenstance that has been keeping us apart?  Are you married?  Are you really a woman?"

That last part was tossed in there to try to add some levity to the moment.  He didn't get it.

He replied with, "Am I really a woman?  You are REALLY F*%$ED IN THE HEAD!"

Huh.

"It was an attempt at humor in an otherwise terrifying question.  Do you have a secret?"

"And how am I supposed to be perpetuating this alleged secret?  Am I supposed to be just stringing you along, manipulating your feelings, coming up with elaborate hoaxes to dash your hopes and break your heart?"

Well... since you spelled it out so nicely...

"I appreciate that you think this of me after so much time," he texted, "I don't want an apology so don't even say it."

Funny, I didn't apologize.  Wasn't even thinking of apologizing.  I wasn't wrong for asking the question.

"You impugned my integrity.  The damage has been done," he sent.

Yes, I'd say it has.

I sent a quick text to my best friend who promptly called me.

There were tears.  Lots of tears.  And a lot of feeling stupid.  He and I had been talking for months now, getting along so very well, how could I not have seen it?  How could I not have known that it was all bullshit?

My roommate said, "Mother Nature was on his side!  If there hadn't been so much snow you would have figured this out months ago!"

I think Mother Nature was on MY side, keeping me away from this man on purpose. 

My best friend let me cry, reminded me of all the good I got out of this relationship (if we can even call it that).  He made me feel good about myself.  He let me feel pretty.  He let me feel wanted.

I feel like an asshole, mostly because it was my ex all over again.  Blaming me for asking a very real and warranted question.  Getting defensive and trying to make me feel bad when they were in the wrong.

An innocent person responds to something like that by saying, "No.  No secret. Just bad timing."

A guilty person responds with accusations and anger.

He never did answer the question, by the way.  Which is telling.

I decided to allow myself to be sad on Saturday.  I would sit at home, watch TV, do whatever, and be sad.  I was going to stop being sad on Sunday.  Dammit.

Then, Saturday night I received some more texts.  Never a phone call, mind you, only texts.

"It's obviously late and we haven't spoken or texted... I'm still upset by yesterday, as I'm sure you are but for different reasons.  I don't know what I want or where we're going... I know you were very upset and disappointed... as was I.  It didn't justify the things you said or the accusations you made. And I saw a side of you that I didn't know existed and I didn't like very much."

Really...

I didn't reply.  I made no accusations, simply asked a question.  A long overdue question.  One I have yet to get an answer to.

I continued my sad day, unhindered.

I awoke on Sunday to the following message: "I want your thoughts on where we go from here... And unlike yesterday, I expect and require responses to these texts."

Really...

So I thought about it for about twenty seconds then replied, "I saw a side of you that I don't like.  I've been nothing but patient and understanding these last months, but there comes a time where patience becomes gullibility.  A man who truly wants to be with me would move heaven and earth to do so, just as I would have done to be with you.  Instead you blew me off at every turn. You got me to fall for you... but you've lost me, and I'm heartbroken."

"Good bye.  Pictures will be deleted.  We are done."  That's it.  Not even a little bit of fight, just done.

Yes, I'd say we are.

So, I will pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again.  Again.

I'd say I dodged a bullet, but I just feel like an asshole.

I feel like an asshole for believing him.  I feel like an asshole for wanting to believe him. I feel like an asshole for allowing it to continue for so long (my only justification is Snowmageddon, but still).  I feel like an asshole for falling for my ex all over again.  I also feel like an asshole for spending such time and energy on someone who, when it came down to the wire, didn't fight for me at all.  Not even a little.

I basically just feel like an asshole.

But I'm done being sad.

My best friend thinks he's married.  My roommate thinks hes a dick.  My father thinks he's a predator.

I just think he's done, at least as far as I am concerned.

Also, I feel relieved.

I'm glad I found out this way rather than in person.  I'm glad I found out now rather than later.  I'm glad I found out that I'm still attracting men like this so that I can be on the lookout as I move on.  I had thought that I'd have grown out of it by now.

I'm glad that I wasn't deeply invested before he showed this side of him.

I'm not glad, however, that I have to start from scratch.

Again.

But I will.

And I will be triumphant.

Dammit.

Right now, though, I'm just sad.

Life.

Life happens.

People happen, illness happens, shit happens.

It just does.  There's no getting around it.

Sometimes life happens hard.  It floors you, knocks the wind out of you, then keeps on trucking.

Sometimes life happens soft, floating by in a gentle breeze.

But it happens whether you want it to or not.

Fifteen years ago life happened to me.  I got sick.  Sick in a way that I couldn't fathom.  I was scared, the doctors were scared, my people were scared.  They threw drugs at me, scared the crap out of me, took all of my money, and then left me to fend for myself.

I managed to get through it with the help of my people, but I didn't handle it very well.  I didn't handle it very well at all, actually.

Eleven years ago it happened again, only this time they couldn't fix it.  They threw more drugs at me, took the rest of my money, and told me to pray.  We could see the fear in their eyes, see them fidget with uncertainty.  The doctors would actually huddle up in my room, talking as though I wasn't there, throwing ideas at each other to try to find a way through it.  To say it was scary is a vast understatement.  And I didn't handle it well.

They gave me steroids, which are the devil's favorite candy.  They took my spleen.  They gave me chemo, which is what finally worked, eventually coaxing my body to work again. The result of this combination of drugs and surgeries was weight.  Lots and lots of weight.

Now, I was never a skinny girl, but I was thin prior to getting sick the first time.  Even after that first bout I was still proportional, still cute, still sexy.   Still me.

After the second bout, though, everything was distorted.  Everything.  And I ran away.  I ran away from everything and hid, and then I got stuck.  I couldn't find my way back to being me.  So I hid some more.

And I got even more stuck.

The more I hid the more stuck I was, the more stuck I became the more I hid.  A vicious circle of fear and pain.

This illness that I have is still bubbling under the surface, though managed and "safe," if there is such a thing, and there are certain things that I must avoid if I want to keep it that way: aspirin, aspartame, alcohol, and quinine.  These four, simple, everyday things could kill me if I have too much of them, or even a little of each in combination.

But I'm "safe" according to the medical people.

This safety is an illusion that, when I think of it for any period of time, can send me into a spiral of fear and tears.  So I don't really think of it if I can help it.

My spiral of shame, dread, despair, and weight continued for far, far too long.  But I was stuck and I couldn't see my way out.

My best friend tried to get me out of it.  She yelled at me, cajoled me, coddled me, coaxed me, shook me, shocked me... but I couldn't see my way out.  I just couldn't.

My friends tried to tell me that I was still me, still awesome, still worthy.  It didn't work.  Nothing worked.  I was just headed down that rabbit hole and I was powerless to stop the descent.

Then, three years ago, I found myself sitting alone with a bottle of vodka in my hand.  A large bottle.  I remember thinking, "All I need to do is drink.  It wouldn't really be killing myself.  I would just be having a drink."  Alcohol is probably the worst of the big four "must avoid" things in my life.  Rationally I knew what I was about to do.  Intellectually I knew what I was about to do.  Emotionally I hadn't a clue what I was about to do.

So I picked up the phone and I called my best friend.  I didn't tell her at the time that I was holding that bottle, but she could tell that this phone call was worse than the others.  She told me to talk to someone, someone educated in talking to people, someone whose profession is talking to people and helping them wade through their shit.

I didn't want to go.  "What if there are bears there?" I asked her.

"I promise that there won't be bears," she said.  

I looked at that bottle and promised her that I would.

The next day I found someone to talk to.  She listened to me cry, listened to me freak out, listened to my story of illness and fear.  Then she looked at me and said, "That sucks.  Doesn't that suck?"

"Well... yeah.  It does suck.  It really sucks."

"I can help you," she said.  "Come back next week.  I can help you."

So I went back the next week.  And the week after that.  And the week after that.

I didn't tell anyone about the bottle.  I didn't feel shame about it, I just wanted to keep that option open.  I told people, if I had to tell them something, that I was going to therapy for an eating disorder.  It's not why I was going to therapy, not even close.  But that's what I told them.

Then something extraordinary happened.  I started to feel better.  I had hope again.  I laughed again.  I started to see the world again, rather than just the space directly in front of me. The periphery came alive again.

A year after I began seeing my bear doctor (we call her the bear doctor because, as it turns out, she has a picture of a bear in her office so there WERE actually bears there!) I began to seek life again.  I began to see my friends again, to audition with joy again, to walk the world with my eyes open again.  My friends were so happy to see me, I began to get called back, I began to book gigs, I began to feel a part of things.

Six months after that I moved back home, back to New York.  On a Friday, I reached out to a few friends asking if they knew of any day jobs, I had an interview on that Monday, and I started my new job a week and a half later.

I began to try to lose weight again, making very slow progress but progress nonetheless.  Nine months after I started my job I began this online dating experience, terrified all the while.  I have had dates.  I have been kissed.  I have met a man who makes me tingle.

I have also lost weight.  The happier I become the more weight just drops off.  I have started taking self-defense classes and can only see joy.  Everywhere.

It gets better.

Life gets better.  It floats.  I float.

Three years ago I sat alone with a bottle of death.  Today I am excited about the future.  I can see a future!  And it looks so good.

I still have that bottle, though I no longer see it as an option.  It is a reminder.  A reminder of how stuck I had been, how desperate I had become, how hopeless.  And it is a reminder of strength, because I didn't open it.  It is strength because I asked for help.  I made that phone call, made that promise, found a bear doctor.

And I'm still here.

I have learned to ask for help.  I don't have to do this shit alone!  WE don't have to do this shit alone.  Someone will be there, someone will listen, someone will make you promise. 

There is joy to be found, and hope.  And bears.  It gets better.

I am living proof.

Justice

I have been preoccupied with justice lately. 

Not legal justice, or any kind of tangible equality, but rather things that are just. 

Because things are not just, not equitable. And it's upsetting.

In my attempt to open my heart to new adventures, to attempt to find love in this body, I have had to reconcile a lot of things.  For example, the person that people see in their mind when they meet me over the Internet or talk to me on the phone is hugely different than the person they see when they meet me in person. They can't imagine that my body looks the way it does because I am "so cool."  I am now prepared for that look in their eyes when they realize that, yes, I am the same girl.

Part of the reason for that is that I'm a pretty awesome person, if I do say so myself.  On paper, I am the perfect girlfriend: funny, loves sports, sexy, open, honest, laid back.  In reality, all of those perfect aspects come in a plus sized package, which automatically disqualifies me in the eyes of many when it comes to dating. Which is a shame.

I have found this man from another city who loves the me that I am on paper, and on the phone.  He loves talking to me, chatting with me, texting... I'm terrified that when we finally meet he will see the package and decide otherwise.  He assures me that he isn't going anywhere no matter what, but I still have that fear.

And I am completely preoccupied with this fear.  I shouldn't fear this!

I am a good person.  I look around the world and see so many good people!  All of us single, alone. 

And then I look around the world and see so many assholes, all of them married, loved.

And it's not just!

This is not to say that every married person is an asshole, or that all good people are single, by any means - I am only speaking of a percentage of the population, but still!

How is it that the jerk I used to work with, who is a horrible person, really... just horrible... has a man who loves and dotes on her?  She is mean, selfish, rude, and he adores her.

How is it that my dear friend, who is amazing and gorgeous, generous, funny... how is it that he is still single?  Where is the man to dote on him?

My friend deserves to be loved.  I deserve to be loved.  So why has the Universe conspired to keep us wanting?

I get angry when I see my friends, my amazing friends who are all good people, that are single and lonely. 

I get angrier when I see narcissists, egomaniacs, cheaters, liars... just assholes in general, all with loving, adoring partners.

Then I get sad.  Truly, hopelessly sad, when I realize that I am without that partner. 

It's not just.

If the world were just my gorgeous, generous friend would have a man that adores him.  My friends, good people all, would love and be loved in return.  I would love and be loved. And you know what?  Even the assholes would be loved!  Because everyone deserves to know what that feels like, to know what it is to be truly loved.

On my worst days I wonder if I do actually deserve it.  If maybe I've done something in my life that negated my chance at love.  That maybe I'm really a horrible, awful person that no one could possibly feel that emotion for.  On these days I call my best friend who bitch slaps me from Georgia, which I appreciate.  Or I cry at my roommate who reminds me that everyone deserves love, and that I am a part of the everyone.

Once I stop crying, though, I get angry again.  Because everyone does deserve love, dammit!  Even me. 

My heart is with the man from out of town, though my frustrations abound that he is so far away.  Perhaps, if things progress and we continue to feel this way something can be done about that.  Until then, though, I will try to curb the fear and insecurities about us.  I will continue to get giddy at the sound of his voice.  I will continue to learn him, and to teach myself to him. 

I will continue to work on my body, and my body image (which are two very different things, with very different points of view), and will continue to fight the good fight where they are concerned.

I will also continue to get angry about the injustice where love is concerned.  Because everyone deserves to be loved.  Good people, mean people, narcissistic people, self righteous people, wing-nuts, bizarre people, fat people, thin people, Christians, Atheists, Muslims, Jewish people, old people, young people, crazy people, introverts, extroverts, actors, writers, accountants... We are all a part of the everyone, and everyone deserves to be loved.

Everyone.

Dammit.

Calm

He calms my fears.

I've been talking to this man for months now, he was one of the first people to reach out to me, in fact.  I love talking to him.

We often text all day long, back and forth for hours and hours. When we talk on the phone we spend most of the time laughing, sharing stories, talking about us.

It has been difficult for us to meet as he lives in another city, but we are going to meet very soon.  We have even talked out plans for how to keep our relationship alive once we do meet, how we will manage the distance.  He says that I'm worth it.

He scares the shit out of me, but for all the right reasons.

He also calms my fears in a way that no man ever has before.

I've been a little afraid to meet this man for he seems so right for me and I don't want him to see me like this.  I don't want him to see me fat.  I have shown him pictures of myself, so he knows that I am not one of those skinny girls, but still the fear remains.

The other day, though, I had a little incident at the store and when I reached out to him for comfort... he comforted me.  He said all the right things in all the right ways.  Then he called the next day to say them again, and to calm my fears even more!  He was amazing.

What happened was this: I was standing in line to pay for my lunch when a man came up very close behind me.  His head was suddenly near mine as he whispered in my ear, "You're really cute," in a low, rather skeevy voice.

"Thanks," I said as I stepped away a bit.

He stepped in closer and said, "You have great tits.  Can I see them?"

"Bite me," I said as I stepped away again.

"Can I bite them?" again placing himself far too close for comfort.

He continued to whisper increasingly disturbing things in my ear until I left the store and headed back to work.  He actually followed me to my building!  I walked in and went right to the doorman, who made sure this guy stayed outside.

Now, I have had some very scary moments with men on the streets of New York, especially when I was thin.  I have had men reach up my skirt, follow me home (or try to), try to pin me against a wall... some very scary moments.

Once I gained the weight those moments dissipated.  In my most sadistic, self-flagellating, emotional times I occasionally miss those moments.  Not the moments themselves, because many of them were very, very scary, but the attention from men.  I lost the attention of men when I got fat, and I miss it.

But then I grab the attention of men like the one the other day and I remember why I don't really miss that attention.  It's creepy.

I couldn't shake the oogy feeling that this guy left me with that day, so I shot a text to my guy.  I really wasn't expecting much, as my experience with situations like this come back to my ex, who really didn't do anything for me when these incidents occurred.  Without actually saying so, he would imply that it was my fault because of what I was wearing, or because I am "too open" with people.

So I wasn't really prepared for how this guy handled me. 

He was appropriately outraged, asked if I was OK, calmed me down a bit, and had me laughing within a few sentences.  He was perfect.

He asked how often things like this happen to me and I told him that it doesn't happen that often now that I'm heavy, but that when I was thin it was a huge issue for me. 

Then we started talking about my weight.

I have mentioned to him in the past that I am trying to lose weight (and have already lost some, but really, what woman isn't trying to lose weight) and he has been supportive of me as I am.  We got into the down and dirty of it this time, though, and I confessed that there is a certain level of fear for me that is associated with being thin.  Some very scary things happened to me because of what I looked like then.  I told him that I am determined to get that body back, or as close to it as I can, but that there will be times of fear from me.  I also told him that I have never really felt safe or protected out in the world of men, not even from the men that I've dated.

"I will always be here for you.  You are safe with me," he said. 

God, how I want to believe him.

I got quite emotional by the end of the evening and I wrote him a text promising him that I will lose weight, that I will overcome those fears, to please bear with me.  It was evident that I was a bit panicky.

He calmed me down again and told me not to worry.  I had a very restless and sleepless night that night. 

I awoke to a text the next morning calling me baby, and beautiful, and wishing me a wonderful day.

We spent the morning commute texting back and forth about inane things, making each other laugh, the events of the day before forgotten.

About an hour into my work day the phone rang and it was him!  I stepped away from my desk for a quick chat, a huge smile on my face.

"I want to put your fears at ease," he said.  "I'm not going anywhere."  He told me that he wants me as I am, that my being heavy is not a deal breaker for him.  "Some men like that in a woman. I am one of those men."

He also told me that if I want to lose weight, he would support me and motivate me, but that I should lose it for me, not for him.  The only reason he would want me to lose weight is because he wants me to be around for a long, long time, and losing the weight will help to ensure that.  "If you never lose weight, though," he said, "I'm not going anywhere.  I want you.  You're amazing."

I stood there for a moment, trying to suppress a sob.

"OK," was all I could muster.  Then we both laughed.

This man handled me.  He handled me well.  And, he calmed my fears.

I am trying very hard to remain somewhat detached from him, trying to keep my emotions in check, trying to be rational.  It's not working very well, but I'm trying.

My emotions rule me, as I've said before, and my emotions are all focused on him.  My rational mind (stop laughing) is telling me to hold back, to wait until we meet, to understand that this man may not be what he seems.  My rational mind is kind of a jerk.

My heart hopes that this man is what he says, is how he seems, is really mine as he says he his.  If he is half the man he seems to be I would be a lucky girl indeed.

I am crazy about this man.  My jerky rational mind is going to need to learn how to relax.  My fears are going to need to do some yoga or meditations.  This man makes me feel like I am the only woman in the world.

Maybe my ex was right, maybe I am "too open" with people.  But if the reward is the feeling I get from this man, then I wouldn't change a thing.

He is amazing.  He is the man who can calm my fears.

Differences

I have come to realize certain differences between the men that I've dated in the past and the men that I'm meeting now.  One man in particular.

Perhaps it is my attitude that has changed or shifted.  Perhaps I'm finally in a position to meet this kind of man.  Perhaps it has just taken me this long to realize that I deserve to be treated well.

In any case, there are very specific differences between my ex and these men.  This man, in particular.

My ex was very closed off emotionally.  I never knew what he was thinking, feeling.  I never knew how he really felt about me because he would say one thing and do the complete opposite.  Then he would make me feel guilty for being insecure, or for questioning, or getting angry.

The men that I've met recently are very open emotionally.  One might even say too open. 

I have had one declare his undying love for me from across the world.  He is traveling for business (supposedly - I've learned to take this type of thing with a grain of salt) and wrote me an email declaring his love, and planning our future together.  Seriously.  He planned our future together. 

I had another gaze lovingly into my eyes and say, "I'm in love with you."  On our third date.  Now, I can appreciate the possibility that his feelings are real, as I have fallen fast and hard in the past, but I knew better than to say anything so soon.  I mean... third date. 

I tend to think that these two men are more in love with the idea of me, the idea that they have found the woman of their dreams, than the actual me. 

It has been a very interesting experience having men say these things to me without causing serious panic on my part.  I have smiled and felt flattered.  I have felt a little creepy about it as well, don't get me wrong, but flattered nonetheless. 

In the eight years my ex and I were together he never once said, "I love you." He said, "You know how I feel about you."  In fact, I never knew how he felt because he never freaking told me, but that's another blog for another day.

These two men have said it multiple times already. 

But I don't feel this way for them.  I don't think that I can feel this way for them.  They are just not the men for me.

Which makes me wonder if this is how my ex felt all during our relationship?  Have I become him?  Did he feel flattered when I told him I loved him, all the while wondering how to avoid all topics that could lead to emotions?

I've tried to be upfront with these men, to let them know that I am seeing other people, that I am not where they are on the emotional scale.  But they are so in love with the idea of me that they aren't actually hearing me.  They aren't listening to me, just to their ideas.

This will be my first experience in breaking up with someone.  I hope that I can do it with much more compassion than the men of my past had with me.  I'm a little nervous, but it needs to be done.

Not because of how they feel, or think they feel, about me.  But because of how I feel about someone else.

He was one of the first men to reach out to me online.  We have been talking via phone and text for months now, learning about each other, our likes, dislikes, wishes, dreams, fears.  He lives in another city, but not one that is an insurmountable distance away. 

And he moves me. 

That happens very rarely in my life.  But he moves me.

I don't want to be tethered to anyone else until I can figure out if he is real, if he is true, and if we work.  I am trying to remain distanced, emotionally, but I am not that girl so it is difficult.  My emotions rule me, they always have, and trying to keep them at bay because my brain says to is crazy-making.

But I'm trying. 

This man tells me that I'm worth the work.  That I'm worth figuring out how to make the distance not seem so far. 

He tells me I'm a catch.

He calls me sweetheart.  He says, "Goodnight, baby."  He tells me that he is mine. 

He makes me feel that I am precious to him, that I am important.  He worries about me.  He thinks about me.  He moves me.

And he has never told me that he is in love with me.  Thankfully.  If he had I may have run away.  Because I have actual feelings for this guy.  What he thinks matters to me. 

My best friend thinks that the fact that he lives away, and that we have spent so much time talking before meeting, is probably the perfect thing for me.  That the amount of time we have had to spend talking has allowed me to wrap my brain around him, and my emotions, without making me panic.  Had he lived closer, or had we met sooner, I may have run away.  But I don't want to run away. 

My roommate is reserving judgement until he can meet this guy, can look him in the eyes.  But he is supportive and hopes that it could work for me.

This guy makes me giddy.

I am holding back from him, though, because I have been hurt before.  I have dated a man that says one thing and does another.  I have been burned and humiliated and I fear that he could do the same, especially as he lives so far away. 

He has asked me not to hold back, promised that he is true, but I am still afraid.  Not of him, or of how I feel, but of being played again. 

And I'm not used to these differences. 

My ex was cold, this guy is open and warm.  My ex was distant, this guy is right there.  My ex never expressed his emotions, this guy talks about them all the time, in a very sane and relaxed way.  My ex hated any kind of affection, this guy is all kinds of affectionate. 

My ex had a very benign nickname for me that had no emotional context.  This guy calls me baby.

Perhaps I am just ready, perhaps it just took the right man to show me, perhaps I should have had this all along. 

I'm not sure how much longer I will be able to hold my emotions in check with him, though.  My emotions rule me, I lead with them in all things, they live in the open.  He says he wants to know them, that he wants me to let go and not hold back anymore. 

My head is still in control, though, at least for now.  I love the differences between my past and this man.  I'm excited about him, and he seems excited about me.

I would choose him if my head would let me.

He moves me.

Breakdown

I had a bit of a breakdown the other night. 

I have been talking to a few men online and have met one of them in person (so far) and I just became completely overwhelmed.

There are two men that I am extremely interested in, one from another city and one much closer to home.  I've spoken to them on the phone or via FaceTime and I am excited to meet them in person, especially the one close to home. 

I've been messaging another man who is also very nice, and we have a lot in common, but we haven't met or spoken on the phone yet so I'm holding out a bit.

I've gone on a few dates with one man who is also very nice, but he reminds me too much of my college boyfriend so I'm not sure we are meant for many more dates.  But he's nice.

I've been casually chatting with a few others as well, but just casually. 

All of this manly attention has been excellent for my psyche, adding a spring to my step and random giggles throughout the day.

But it really hit me the other night - what am I doing?

These men couldn't possibly want me!  They haven't seen me, they don't really know what they're getting into.

And yet, most of them have indicated that they do.  Want me.  Seriously, want me. 

One of the men that I am casually conversing with (at least to me) has stated that he's already "falling in love with me."  Dude.  We haven't met yet. 

The one that I like that I am messaging back and forth with has also said that he wants to meet, and hopes that when we do we will commit to making it work between us.  Dude.  We. Haven't. Met. Yet.

The man from another city has also asked that I not "see" other people until we meet, hoping that when we do we will decide to be together and "that'll be it."  Seriously.  Dude. 

In a way I would like to believe that these men mean what they say, that they really do want me, like me, could fall for me.  A part of me needs to believe it, needs to think that I could be loved. 

But I haven't been loved in my life, not really.  I've been in love, and men have liked me a whole lot, but I have never really been loved.  I don't know what it's like to know, really know, that someone loves me.  That I am his, and he is mine.  I don't know how to even wrap my mind around what that could feel like. 

The majority of me thinks that these men must just be desperate and lonely.  Or that they are just bullshitting.  Or they think that these are the kinds of things that women want to hear.  These men couldn't possibly want me, not really.  Or if they do want me, even a little, then they will balk when they see me in person and it will all fall apart. 

But then again, the man that I've met has said these things to me as well.  He already talks of us as "seeing each other" and being together.  He has told me that he has refused dates with other women due to me.  He tells me that I'm hot.  That I'm awesome.  He tells me that he "loves almost everything about me."  That I'm special and that he's so happy we met.

He has seen me in person and still says these things.

He holds my hand and kisses me in public.  Even my ex never did that, which always made me feel that he was ashamed of me somehow.  This nice man, though, holds my hand.  He kisses me whenever he can.  What if he means it?

I want to believe. 

I brought up my weight to the man I like, the one I've been messaging with.  I told him that I am plus sized, that I'm working on it but this is the reality right now.  I told him that if this is a deal breaker for him I would understand, but I would be disappointed. 

He replied, "Awwww, why would that be a deal breaker? I can see that you are plus sized from your pictures, I already know.  Know this, I love you just the way you are. I want a pretty woman outside and much more on the inside." I really want to believe him, believe that he means what he says.  But what if he's just lonely?

The only man not saying these things to me is the one that I talk to via FaceTime.  He has seen me, at least on the small screen, and he wants to meet and hang out in person.  And, of course, he is the one that I am the most attracted to, the one I talk to with ease, who excites my intellect.  The one who is somewhat aloof.  The one trying to get me to come to him.  But what if he's really one of "those guys?"  What if he's really an ass?

But I keep talking to these men.  I keep chatting, keep messaging.  What am I doing?

I sat in my living room talking this through with my roommate, crying and crying. 

What if it's all lies?  What if it's all bullshit?  What if?  What if?  What if?

My roommate said all the right things in all the right ways, but I just kept going off the rails.

What if my man from out of town has created a new profile and one of the men I'm chatting with is really him in disguise?

"That's a different world from the one we're living in, Katy," said my roommate with a sly smile. 

He was right, but I was overwhelmed and losing it. 

"Katy, you are meant to be loved. You deserve to be loved.  You will be loved."  I love my roommate. His words sent me into deeper sobs, because I really want to believe him but I'm terrified to believe him.

I'm so afraid to put myself in a position, by believing one of these men, to have my heart broken again. 

But I'm more afraid not to. 

I want to know what it's like to be loved.  Really loved.  To be his. 

The confidence I've regained recently from talking to these men, flirting with these men, being kissed, has been so wonderful.  It has invaded my daily life and people are noticing, which is ... interesting. 

Then I go to the really bad place where I think that these men may really mean what they say, but that they will run for the hills when they actually see me.  That the plus size they are comfortable with is less plus than my plus.  That they will see me and realize that they just can't.

Or worse, that they are fine with my wrecked body, but it's me that they can't deal with once we meet in person. 

Or worse yet, that they still want me, no matter my body, no matter how plus is the plus of my plus.  What if all that they have said is true and now it's up to me?  What if I can't let myself be loved out of habit?  What if, after all of this, what if what it comes down to is that I am unlovable?

I told you... off the rails.

Toward the end of my crying at my roommate I started to feel guilty.  What if these men are true, that they mean what they say, and they are not really the men for me?  Am I keeping them from their true match just because I enjoy the attention?  Am I a horrible person for wanting to keep chatting with them, seeing them, knowing it probably won't lead anywhere?

I finally calmed down, dried my tears, regained my sanity.

I woke the next day contemplative and quiet.  I hadn't really spoken to any of the men the day of my breakdown, and I missed a few of them, and I was a little sad.  Also a little convinced that they had all changed their minds, but that was mostly because I had gone a little crazy the night before. 

That morning, however, I heard from my man from out of town. First thing in the morning.  We had a nice little text chat. 

I also heard from the messaging man that I like first thing in the morning.  Also throughout the day and into the night. 

While chatting with him one of the casual chatting men contacted me. 

Then I got a call from the man that kisses me.  While I was messaging with the man that I like. 

Ten minutes after that call ended the man that I really like called me via FaceTime.

My evening ended after that call with two very sweet good-night-sleep-tight-dream-good-dreams messages from these other men. 

They had all reached out to me on the same day, most of them within an hour and a half of each other.

Who am I?

I sent a text to my best friend this morning saying, "I think I'm a little in over my head with this whole dating thing."

She talked me through it and vetoed a few of the men on principle. 

My roommate says, "It's called dating - you get to know each other and figure out if you work.  And you're allowed to date more than one person at a time!"

My best friend says, "Straight, non-actor boys like naked women, all naked women, they DO NOT CARE about the dumb things we obsess over... You are Katy-fing-Grenfell!"

I really, really want to believe them.  I also want to believe these men.  And I want to stop being afraid, stop obsessing over the fact that I'm fat and that these men may not want me because of it. 

I need to try to remember that I am Katy-fing-Grenfell! 

Dammit.

And I need to remember to be brave. 

I am a little impressed with myself, though, that it has taken this long to have a full-on breakdown.  I expected myself to have one a lot sooner than this.

And I will remember to breathe.  Breathe.  Freakin' breathe, dammit!!!!

See, I had a bit of a breakdown the other night...

Desperate

Dating can suck.

We all know this, but we put ourselves out there anyway in the hopes of finding our match, our partner, our love.

But dating can suck.

When I first began this adventure I was certain that no one would respond to me, mostly due to my size.  I thought that no man would want me, that this online experience would mimic my real life experience.  I was prepared to be left alone.

But I haven't been left alone.

At first I responded to any man that sent me a message, thinking that I would be tempting fate, or jinxing this amazing luck if I didn't, no matter how odd the guy seemed.

I have learned to be more discerning.

I'm not sure if the men that I am chatting with are extremely desperate, or if I am just that awesome (ha!), but these men are desperate.

I have had more than a few men jump right to some very straightforward sex talk, asking for naked pictures and sending some themselves.  Now, I am a fan of sex, don't get me wrong, but I'm not just looking to hook up with random men for a fling here and there.

I can appreciate their straightforwardness because I at least know exactly what they want (and I mean exactly).  But that's just not me.

Mostly, though, I seem to be dealing with men who are desperate for a woman.

I have had two men ask me, in all seriousness, to move in with them: one on our first and only date, the other I haven't even met yet!

I have had a man I haven't met tell me that he wants to spend time with me forever.

One guy started planning the wedding after six sentences.  Six!  Marriage!  I am not a mail order bride, thank you very much.

Several of them have said, "I feel like I've known you forever," after only chatting for a little while online.

It's crazy.

Many of the men who are looking for more than sex ask right away if I am interested in marriage and kids.  It's a bit refreshing, actually, because at least we know where we stand on those issues from the get go.

That's not to mention the men that I've actually met.

I have gone on dates with two men so far, one was icky and the other very nice, though not the man for me.

The first man I met for dinner at a local diner.  The pictures he had posted online were at least 15 years old as he looked nothing like them anymore.  He asked me to move in with him within twenty minutes of meeting him.  Seriously.  Twenty minutes.

My roommate and I now call him the Icky Tickler because at the end of the date he asked if he could take me home, tie me up, and tickle me while he pleasured himself.

Yup.

I also went out with a very nice man who seems awfully excited about us.  He told me, on our second date, that when a friend wanted to set him up with a woman he said, "Thanks, but I'm seeing someone."  That was very sweet, really, but we've only been on two dates.  Let's not get hasty.

I am still chatting with the man from another city, though the prospects seem slim for us as we live so far away from each other, but we'll see.

I met a man the other day that I have been talking to quite a bit.  He is in the military and is currently deployed overseas, which may give us plenty of time to get to know each other prior to meeting.  Or it could just be a great friendship that develops.  Who knows.  But I'll keep chatting with him.

I have also been chatting with a younger man.  A much younger man.  He seems very nice, and very accomplished, and we get along well.  We've talked on the phone a few times.

I think we are going to meet today and hang out for a bit.  Who knows, it could be fun.  And I might like the title Cougar.  I'll meet him and see.

I still feel the need, even though you can tell from my pictures, to tell these men that I am plus sized at the beginning lest there be some misunderstanding.

I'm still terrified of all of this.

But I'm doing it!

And I will no longer respond to every man that sends me a message, just because they reached out.  I am learning that I can still be picky, still be choosy, even though I'm fat.  I don't have to take whatever comes along.  I can have the men that I want, not just men that want me.

I am worthy of the right man, not just any man.

But that scares me a little as well.  Finding worth in myself where I didn't think there was any to be had, where I thought the fat negated worth, is scary, mostly because it is liberating.

I feel sexy again, not because these men seem to be attracted to me, but because I am worthy of their attraction.

I feel confident again, I feel worth the effort.

I am worth the effort.

I am determined to continue this adventure, no matter the men that come along, because somewhere in the world is the right man for me.  I know this now.

I just need to be patient.  We'll find each other, somehow.

Because we are both worthy of it.