Don’t Laugh, You Fuckers Are Too
Hidy ho there! How are you feeling today? That’s good. I’m glad you’re doing well. I do hope that thing that you are wishing for happens. Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, I want you to understand something. You may end up disliking us (hell, some days I hate myself too. For different reasons then you may, mind you). But what I can tell you, is I truly wish I had more of the advice and honesty from the people around me, that you are getting from us (not saying I don’t get it, but more back then would have been better).
Before I jump into this, and anything else I talk about, let me make this clear: I know what it’s like. I truly and honestly know what it is like. I have, from as far back as kindergarten, been the “big kid”. I don’t just mean the tall kid in the class. I was that fat kid that everyone picked on. I was the easy target. Hell, I still am in some cases (working on that). I was the kid that everyone made fun of to make themselves feel better. The one they picked on by being the ass end of the joke. The one that no matter how hard I tried, never felt like I fit in with most of the other little shits, and never would.
I was different. I had a problem. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself what it was. Deep down I knew I did, hell, I even knew what “it” was. But I always viewed THEM, the people around me, as the problem. They never understood that there was something wrong with me. Not going to lie, the jokes and the ridicule didn’t help one fucking bit (seriously it didn’t. I had some pretty bad depression, and I did try to kill myself [ story for another time] but kids are fucking dick bags). At that age, and with that being the “world” as I knew it, everyone else had to be the problem.
From what I “thought” to be true, I was supposed to be this way. I had the genes in me to not fit into the jeans I’m in. Yes, my parents are/were large people. They weren’t always that way, but it happened. My siblings the same. We just all made some poor decisions along the way, and BOOM! unhealthy. Doesn’t make any of us bad people (I might be, different reasons), but it all starts somewhere. No, there was no major childhood trauma (don’t get me wrong, some shitty things happened, but it’s all on me no one else), just a series of poor decisions and really shitty impulse controls that got me to the point I am in. I don’t blame the dick bags. I mean I could, but that won’t get me anywhere.
I was the fat kid. I mean, while writing this I still AM a fat kid, but I have learned the from my mistakes, and have chosen to fix them. Better late than never I suppose. <– That was me. Like I said, fat kid. I was 18 years old, and on my way to my high school prom. I was 370 lbs. Anytime someone asked me about my weight, I would LIE MY ASS OFF (not really, see photo). The only thing it was good for was rugby. I was a wall in high school (actually a house, as it’s how I got the nickname. “Fuck me boy you’re as big as a house,” and the rest is history). Life moved on, I as did I, but with less moving. Very quickly after that photo, something wonderful happened: I left high school, which meant no more dick bags (huzzah!).
I was still very fat, and thanks to the poor habits I picked up when I was young (leaving a fat kid to his own devices and decision making when it comes to food is never a good idea), I was not improving. I wasn’t getting worse, but I was yoyoing between 355 and 370 lbs. Not good. On the horizon though, the sun had started to rise, and magic was about to happen. I was about to meet a group of people that I felt I sorely lacked: friends who were, and still are, assholes
That sounds way more harsh than it means to (I had friends before. Some of the best and funniest people I know [hi Steve!], and will always be family). About half of the guys were former fat kids, who made the realization that I had yet to come to. We were sitting around one night talking about different things, when one person casually threw out that <insert names> used to be fat kids. I was intrigued. I knew a couple of them from back in school, but they were a couple of years older than me, so we had never really hung out. What happened next was the best piece of advice that I have ever learned in my entire life at that point. I asked what they had done, and (let’s call him Jim) said to me “I came to the realization that I was the problem. I needed to make a change, and that I was the only one who could fix it.”
I was in utter amazement. I looked around to the others who laughed and said the basically same thing. My life would be forever changed. Things had started to make sense, as I too, was coming to the same exact realization: I AM the problem.