“Whatever it is that compels me to write a diary is the same thing that inspires me to write and create characters and draw and sing and dance: the inability to express myself verbally or orally. (May 24, 2003)”
Warning: THIS IS A SERIOUSLY IMAGE-HEAVY POST. But pretty interesting, too.
I don’t know how many of you have been watching My Mad Fat Diary. It should probably be ALL OF YOU, but probably won’t be. It’ll probably be closer to none of you, which is because a lot of y’all are in America. For details, check out the Wikipedia page, because otherwise I’ll spend about 2,000 words babbling about it. Suffice it to say that I found myself relating to the main character, Rae (Rachel), pretty easily… except for the whole bit where boys found her attractive. That never happened to me.
See, I’ve kept a diary ever since I was a kid. Like, since I was maybe five or six. I should have diaries dating back more than 20 years, but the diaries I kept when I was that young got torn up and/or burned when I was scared that my Mum and Dad or sisters would find them. They were the cutesy kind, with the lock on them, and the pretty paper inside. Not such pretty things inside, though, as I’m sure you know by now.
Yes, I sometimes write entries in my diary, aimed specifically at people. No, you don’t want to read them if they’re aimed at you.
This is part two, covering diaries five to six. Part one, covering diaries one to four, is here.
Mad Fat Diary #5: July 19, 2007 to January 1, 2012
(Again: if you’re reading in RSS or a reader or anything similar you’ll probably have to come to the the entry to see the gallery below, which includes all the photos from Mad Fat Diary #5.)
Unlike the other diaries, I don’t need to look far to find the first mention of hating myself; maybe because it’s about year or so after my girlfriend/fiancée, Danii, and I broke up.
July 19, 2007
It’s silly, though. The only thing that’s really bothering me right now is the fact that I’m still single. Not that I’m used to being in a relationship; I’ve had, what? 4 girlfriends and 2 boyfriends in my lifetime, and the longest of those was nearly 2 years, entirely unconsummated? Yeah, I’m the relationship Queen, baybee! Haha.
But no, seriously.
I’m just annoyed because I’m totally aware that I probably wouldn’t have this problem if I wasn’t fat. People don’t want GFs (girlfriends) as fat as me (although I’m getting skinner!) and GOD, all I want is a significant that Cola can like.
(Cola’s my best friend in the entire frelling world. I’ve known her since 2001, and so far, she’s only ever liked two of the people I’ve dated – The Girl, who she moderately liked, and my current boyfriend, Reese, who she actually likes.)
August 8, 2007
I lost 5.5lbs this week. Mum’s right.
I am totally doing this.
I am beautiful.
I am bold.
I am healthy.
I AM TOTALLY DOING THIS.
Resolutions for 2008 included, “lose 98lbs (7st) – as always, ‘lose weight’ is among my resolutions, but this year past has proven that I can do it. I’ve already done it!”, “Stay sober for at least 364 days of the year, because I know that denying myself entirely is the worst idea in the world. Been there, done that, gone off the rails,” and “try to love yourself more.”
Apparently 2008 was a leap year, because I mention taking 366 pictures (one a day), which gives me two days of the year to get drunk. That’s pretty kind of myself, haha!
I’d also joined Curves in 2007, and complained about my ’68” ass’ making me seem shorter than I actually am, but on January 1, 2008, I get to a point where I weigh less than 27st for the first time since 2004. But that was at night, and I think, by the next morning, the weight wasn’t the same.
January 12, 2008
I am admitting this to you, because admitting it is half the battle, right?
The past several times I’ve been in Tesco, unaccompanied, I’ve bought a 6- or 8-pack of Viennese Whirls and a 6- or 8-pack of Cherry Bakewells. And it needs to stop RIGHT NOW.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, I also admit to eating, “an 8-pack of Viennese Whirls, a 6-pack of Cherry Bakewells, a half of the big pack of Doritos, and one of those [Eeyore] cakes that’re meant for 4 or 6 kids,” while my parents were in Paris, washed down with a 2-litre Coke Zero. How/why I didn’t vomit, I will never know.
Not at all related to weight-loss/self-hatred, but I’d forgotten that I lost my phone when I was in Downtown Disney. When I got back to Ireland, I said:
“So my phone is pretty much officially lost; it’s not even going to voicemail anymore; it’s now going direct to “this call cannot be connected”. Which is kind of shit; that phone was only 6 months old
(and 2 days away from retirement!).
There’s tonnes of stuff like that littered through my diaries. You can tell when I started getting into weirder fandoms, when I start using “WTF” and “OMG” and when I used The Dark Tower-isms even when I’d never read the books, and when I actually used the word “frell”, even although I’d only ever seen Farscape in passing. (But I’m almost finished the entire four series now on Netflix.)
This diary’s different, though. I don’t know why I decided to do it with this diary, but I kind of created a scrapbook with it. I’ve got a Chili’s beer mat “margarita bar” and all of my World of Disney” squashed pennies stuck on one page with writing around them, and my tickets to Tampa via NYC-Kennedy on the opposite page.
A ticket to the shitty nightclub we went to on my 25th birthday. The ticket for Eddie Izzard’s Stripped tour at the Tampa Theatre. Train tickets from a trip back home to Scotland, while I was living in Ireland.
Resolutions for 2010 were, apparently, “Fuck resolutions right up the arse, and just be a healthier, happier, better person.”
But then, of course, I turned 27, and made the following resolutions:
- Lose weight
- Exercise consistently
- Leave the house more often
- Stay at Weight Watchers
- Drink more water!
This is after I’ve joined the gym, but it’s Weight Watchers in Scotland, which isn’t quite as successful as Weight Watchers in Ireland, for some reason. This specific entry, which isn’t actually on my birthday, but a few days after, ends with:
I’ve had so many years where I’ve told myself I’m going to lose weight and change my life.
This is just going to be the year that I actually do it.
Over the page from that, I’ve got an autograph from Michelle McManus, from when my Dad worked in The Hilton in Glasgow. It was a really lovely thing for him to do, because Michelle’s a big girl, too, but confident and beautiful and – well. Yes. She’s rather faboo, really.
July 2, 2011
The people from Supersize vs. Superskinny: Families called Lorna and I.
I’m really hoping we get accepted; it would be so good for both of us. We really need it right now.
It’s around this time, though, that I’ve started updating after a huge empty time, and of course, what happened in this empty time? My sisters got married, and before my big sister got married the year before, I started dating my boyfriend.
Lots and lots and lots of entries about my boyfriend, oops. At least I’m not bitching about how much of a cock he is. He’s the decent one.
August 12, 2011
So, Lorna and I got called back for The Biggest Loser! 🙂 We were so worried that we weren’t going to be able to make it to the final stages because they take place in London, and I was looking at flight prices and train prices, and they were all too expensive. We couldn’t both afford to fly, or take the train.
[…]The bus trip down was horrendous. We got picked up at Hamilton, but because the bus stopped at Glasgow first, by the time we got on the bus, there were only empty seats right at the front… and the driver had his bags on the seat behind him, so Lorna and I were the only people forced to share a seat (SERIOUSLY. EVERYONE ELSE HAD A SEAT TO THEMSELVES!). Right at the front. Where there’s the barrier at the stairs. Where you can’t stretch your legs out at all.
The air conditioning was broken, and the heat passed 30° at one point. I watched it the thermostat. I thought I was going to vomit and/or pass out at one point. When we got to the rest stop, I got out and stuck my fingers down my throat, but I didn’t have anything throw up. It helped me feel better anyway.
[…]I managed to get us through the Tube easily, which is surprising, considering the last time I was there was in 2004, and I needed about a dozen Original London-Born Sherpas™ to guide me through! NOT THIS TIME, THOUGH.
I did have to ask for help once, to make sure we were getting on the correct train. Other than that, I’m amazed at how much I remember from one visit to London almost ten years ago.
The medical tests/audition went well, I think. There was this one thing: you had to step up and down onto this big metal step for three minutes, and I’d forgotten to bring my inhaler, so I only managed to make it to two and a half minutes before I felt like I was going to faint. I can only hope it doesn’t count against me.
I’ve got my fingers so tightly crossed right now. We’ll find out if we’ve got through around Aug 23.
If we get through, everything kicks off on Sept 11.
One month, and my life will either change or stay the same. But we are going to get on, Lorna and I, and we are going to change our lives.
The people we auditioned with are really nice! I forget most of their names, except for Tamara, who was a young black London girl. She reminded me quite a bit of myself. There was only one person larger than me – a guy whose name I can’t remember – who I just kept on calling “Mr. Greedy” in my head, because he was wearing a Mr. Greedy t-shirt, and he said he weighed 26st. (When they weighed me in, I weighed 160.2kg, or 353lbs.)
But yeah! I think we all got along pretty well, especially the Welsh girl and her Dad, they seemed really nice. I’d love to see some of them in the house, but there were two guys who were really annoying. We were asked (not all of us) who would we eliminate? and one of the annoying guys said they’d eliminate me, because of “deep-fried pizzas”, which Lorna and I had mentioned when we’d been talking about local foods we liked that you couldn’t get anywhere else.
I mean. Seriously?!
The series producer, Louise, told him it wasn’t a valid elimination reason, so HAHA FUCK YOU, MAN.
I remember sitting in the bus station, waiting for our bus home. I made sure Lorna and I were the FIRST PEOPLE ON THE BUS, and we sat on separate seats across the aisle from each other, put our bags beside us, and fell the hell asleep. Nobody bothered us. I think, being as we were both overweight, nobody would have anyway. But the bags were an extra precaution.
(Obviously, Lorna and I didn’t get on The Biggest Loser – it was this series, and we actually met the winner, Kevin, (and Amy Mac) at our originally audition in Glasgow, whereupon I said to him, “Well, you’re a shoo-in to get on the show. They’re not going to turn down a guy of your size.”
He didn’t take it as a criticism. He gave me that sort of corner-of-the-mouth cocky-confident smile that people do, “Yeah, I know.”
The Welsh people I mentioned that I liked, in London, are Geoff and Sarah. I felt really sorry for Geoff, because he got through and then pulled out before getting into the house, for health reasons. 🙁
A couple of entries after The Biggest Loser thing, there’s an entry where I’m getting nostalgic about high school after, shock horror, watching High School Musical. Because I was a music geek in high school: choir, string group, orchestra, drama. Individual viola tuition. Days where I only had to go to 1 class because of winter/spring/summer concert rehearsals.
October 12, 2011
[…] I’m 28 years old, and I feel like I sleepwalked through high school. I feel like I was never really there. I never really lived those years, because I…
Because I was fat.
It’s one thing I’m pretty fucking annoyed about: I feel like I’ve never really lived or done anything, because I’ve been too busy being fat.
I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I lose weight. It’s not like I can rewind time to when I was 12, but be a healthy weight the whole time instead. I’m going to live with all these stupid regrets for the rest of my life, and that pisses me off.
It’s not even the things I listed on The Biggest Loser form (being able to run without hurt, being able to take a bath, etc); it’s things like: have a boyfriend – or girlfriend! – as a teenager. Have a first kiss worth remembering! Have someone ask me to dance at the school disco. Don’t spend playtimes hiding from bullies in the library.
How’d you get stuff like that back?
How do you do away with the fact that you’re 28 (now 31) years old, but you feel like you’re still 12 inside, because that’s basically when you stopped actually being able to do anything the people your age did?
A few pages after that, there’s an autograph from Ruth Lorenzo, my biggest X Factor Girl Crush EVER. Also from when my Dad worked in the Hilton. It’s got a big smiley face next to it. It’s stuck above an entry where I’m bitching about everyone in the house bitching about everyone in the house… :/
Resolutions 2012: include lose weight, exercise more, try to get a job, blog at least twice a week, move into your own place.
Shock horror, eh? Well, I stuck to most of them this year: I did exercise more, I did try to get a job, this was the year that I started blogging twice a week, and I moved into my own place at the end of January 2012.
Mad Fat Diary #6: January 12, 2012 to Present
(Again: if you’re reading in RSS or a reader or anything similar you’ll probably have to come to the the entry to see the gallery below, which includes all the photos from Mad Fat Diary #6.)
I’m still in the midst of a breakup when this diary starts. “Let’s hope I find someone amazing who doesn’t ever let me down, or let’s hope that I have lots and lots of unfulfilling sex as I try to fill a void in my life. Personally, I’d hope for the latter. *shifty*”
So far, I’ve counted four entries written to my boyfriend during the breakup.
I want your heart broken
Some sign of emotion
I wanna see the tears tumble down
Show me I meant something
And that you feel nothing
But your world crashing to the ground
Meat Loaf’s Cry Over Me is my definitive break-up song. Screw every other break-up song ever.
November 29, 2011
Today’s a pretty bad day. I feel like I’m coming down from the worst high ever and I thought for a minute, “If it wasn’t for Reese and Cola, I’d just kill myself right now.”
That’s how bad it is.
And I know why. I bought a load of crap while I was doing my shopping, and then I ate all of it at once.
I am fat and disgusting and I don’t deserve to live.
I just wish I could fix what was wrong with my brain so I
A) wouldn’t feel like this anymore, and
B) wouldn’t feel the need to eat like this any more.
The first few resolutions for 2013?
- Blog at least twice a week. Your readers still deserve this. Try to make them quality posts, too?!
- Walk once a day, no matter how short a walk
- Lose some fucking weight, you fat fuck.
- Turn 30. Don’t die.
Apparently, 2013 was the year to “go fucking big or go fucking home, Tracy.”
Amazingly, 2013 was a really quiet year. I think I spent most of it in front of the PS3. Or FATGIRLslim. But there’s not a lot there, and if there is, it’s stuff that’s, for a change, not about me.
Even when we get into 2014, there aren’t any resolutions. It’s just, “Hey it’s been a while btw this is what’s happened,” and then, this past week, “The Universe decided to drop some shit in my lap this past weekend!”
I think the thing that’s most surprising is that while this probably seems like a lot, considering these diaries cover almost sixteen years of my life, I thought there’d be more self-hate.
Considering how much I sit in my head every day and think, “ugh, I hate being this fat,” (and that’s very rarely not followed up by, “I should do something about that.”) there’s very, very little of it actually written down. Even the entries that are “I’m starting a diet tomorrow!” entries aren’t, for the most part, “I’M STARTING A DIET TOMORROW BECAUSE I’M FAT AND DISGUSTING AN UGLY AND I’M GOING TO KILL MYSELF” entries.
The entries where I’m feeling disgusted with myself are the entries where… well. Where boys or girls are involved. Where food’s been involved in one way or another.
Where things are externalised.
I honestly expected to look back over my diaries, only to find that every other entry was filled with, “I hate myself, I’m so fat and disgusting, I’m going to kill myself and I’m going to bleed Hershey’s syrup because I’m so fat,” kind of a thing.
It’s been weird to find that, mostly, I’m just really, really lonely. My friends are all spread across the globe. I don’t have any friends that aren’t “through a medium” as my therapist puts it.
I’m basically using food to try to fill those voids that I talked about up there. But food isn’t love. Sex isn’t love.
Especially not if it’s the kind of love I can give myself.
(GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER, PERVERTS.)