I'm one of them
You see them everywhere. In the mall, at the ballpark, driving in their cars, walking down the street, everywhere. Who are they? How did they get like that? Why are they eating that? They don't need that. How could they let themselves get so big? Well, you are what you eat.
I'm talking about fat people. That's not the nicest way to say it but I CAN because I'm one of them now. I'm a fat person. Even today as I walked down the street, I thought the above thoughts to myself. I think we all do. While I would never say anything and I mean no harm in my thoughts, they are ultimately negative. I could understand not being thin, I haven't been "thin" since I was in the 6th grade, but how do you let yourself get to be 50, 100, 200 or more pounds overweight? Isn't there a point when you stop and say, "I don't need to eat this!"? If only it were that simple.
I'm 5'9" and for most of my life have been around 165 pounds. Not fat but although I was very active, I neither worked out nor did situps and I never felt comfortable when taking my shirt off, so I didn't and used my Irish skin and it's lack of tanning ability as my excuse. Oh how I wish I was 165 pounds again. The last time I was 165, I was single, 37 and on the verge of loosing my war with depression.
I wasn't over eating but I was hooking up online and drinking. I knew exactly what I was doing. First I'd go online and find someone, then while I was getting ready, I'd have a shot or two of Vodka. I only had one or two shots - really big mouthfuls poured directly from the bottle - because I had to drive to my hook up and I didn't want to drink and drive. I figured the 10-15 mins I needed to drive was too little time for me to be affected by the alcohol but enough for me to start relaxing by the time I knocked on the door. About halfway to my destination, I'd down another mouthful or two and then for good measure I did another two before I got out of the car. I didn't just was to be relaxed, I wanted to be numb. The more numb I was, the more control I gave up and, I know this for a fact, the better I was. And the better the sex felt to me.
I was doing this several times a week, mostly with regulars or fb's but there was usually a new one too. Whether or not they used a condom when they fucked me it didn't matter. Some would put one on, if they asked I usually said yes to put one on, sometimes I'd say "You're the host, it's your responsibility to give me the most pleasure you can" and then there were the ones who would "Press their Luck." First they'd press their hard cock up and down my crack, then, depending on my response, they'd press their hard cock on my hole seeing how far I'd let them push it in. The key to "Pressing your Luck" was moaning. Moaning and wiggling my ass. It was like saying yes without having to actually saying yes. When I topped I'd always press my luck and I always got lucky.
Hooking up and drinking and not caring about safer sex was just part of the picture. I also started putting myself into higher risk, kinky situations. Bondage, groups, ws, toys, whatever. I didn't say no. Like I said, I knew what I was doing, I just didn't think about the cause or about fixing it. I never felt better afterwards and even during I was never 100% free of the knowledge of what I was doing or why. Fortunately, this period didn't last long. On 12/30, I was hooking up for the third time with M who was into the kinkier stuff. On this night, it was to be M and his two friends. Play started right away. I got on the bed next to the other boy and our Sirs went to work. About a half hour into it, M removed the dildo and his cock from my ass and ordered me to the bathroom. I knew what this meant, ws, and I was forced to crawl my way to the golden shower. I guess I should have been more concerned about drinking and crawling then drinking and driving. It became obvious to M that I was not in a condition to be played with (a gentleman). Although I begged, he refused to let me stay. Talk about bottoming out. I got in my car, barely able to walk and started for home. On my way, I called a friend and drunkenly poured out my feeling. I scared the hell out of her. A few days later she told me that she ended the call hoping I would calm down and be more focused on the road. It did help a little. As I waited for a red light to turn green, I realized that I was at the Green Lantern. Two thoughts went through my mind 1. I should stop and sober up some, and 2. while I'm sobering up maybe I can still hook up. I did both.
I was about to leave when I saw him across the room. He looked like Tim McGraw but he wasn't looking my way. So I crossed the room and made a space for myself next to him. I still couldn't catch his eye and was about to give up. We were at the bar in front of the karaoke stage and someone was attempting to sign an Allison Kraus song. He was way off pitch making almost impossible to recognize. When it finally hit me I almost screamed, "OH, it's Allison Kraus." He turned my way and said, "Thank you. I knew I knew it but damn, he butchered it!" That was all it took. We locked eyes and in an hour we were fucking. But it didn't turn out to be a wham, bam thank you now leave. It was more like wham, bam and passout. He had had his share of drinks that night too.
In the morning, he made us a great breakfast (we were at his house) and we talked. I would have stayed longer but I had to get to work. It was New Year's Eve and I think we both thought but didn't say "See ya later?" so instead, agreed to call on the next day. 12/31/01 would be the last night I would sleep alone for over a year. We fell hard for each other and fast. He was amazing, sweet, funny, handsome, kind, generous, thoughtful and meeting him saved my life. I have no doubts that if I hadn't, I'd be dead. How I don't know but I know I would be. That fact always haunted my love for him. Did I love him for him or for being a hero and saving my life? I think it was a lot of both. I never told him what I had been doing the hours and weeks before I met him. I was too ashamed.
We had our first date on New Year's Day and were together every day and night for 13 months before I had a business trip that he couldn't join me on. Our 8th day together he told me he loved me, I told him I loved him too. Laying in his arms, I had been thinking that I was in love with him and then he said those three words. On the 10th night we were dancing and he told me, "You don't know this yet, but you're going to marry me." I replied, "Are you sure I don't know that?" Day 14 he did ask me to marry him and I said yes. On Valentine's Day, day 45, I got down on one knee in the restaurant and said, "One month ago today, you asked me to marry you and I happily said yes. Tonight, will take this ring and wear it as a symbol of our love, engagement and commitment to one another?" With tears running down both cheeks he nodded. I placed the simple sterling silver ring on the ring finger of his right hand and then handed him a small white box with a matching ring for him to place on my finger. We kissed and the room broke into applause. It wasn't a gay restaurant and we were the only same sex couple. I didn't know I had created a scene but the warmth from the room just added to the magic of the night.
It maybe too late to say it now but I didn't intend to get into all of that when I started this but it was necessary. When I came back from that business trip, I knew it was over between us. I didn't know why at the time but I knew. It took several months before I spoke to him about it. I thought the feelings would change, I thought that it was the depression distorting everything and that it would eventually go away and everything would be alright. It's what I wanted. It's not what happened.
P was so understanding. He helped me find a therapist and I started therapy and anti-depressants. It took about 10 weeks but one day I realized that I wasn't in pain. It was an amazing moment. For me, depression is painful and had been a part of my life since i was 10 or so. I never wanted to kill myself but you wouldn't hear me complain about being murdered, in a fatal car accident or getting cancer either. I didn't cry (which is actually a problem) or burst into fits of laughter. I just became lethargic as I had to summoned more and more strength to get through the day. To keep up the appearance that I was fine and everything was okay. To be what I thought people expected me to be. It was so tiring and so dishonest. All I could think about was how much better I'd feel if a red hot poker were thrusted though my eye and into my brain or some variation on that theme.
Fast forward to today. It's been almost two years since P and I broke up. Life is better but I still have a way to go. I now weigh the most I ever have, 220. The funny thing, funny hmmm not funny ha ha, is that I don't see myself as big as I am. I know how big I've gotten by the way my clothes fit and by my reduced fitness but the image of myself in my mind has me looking like I did when I weighed 165. Conversely, my mind's image of myself was closer to what I look like today. That was until I became one of them. The mind can play cruel tricks on us.
As I was walking to work in the snow this morning, venti white mocha with whip in hand, I caught my reflection in a store window, and thought, "Does that guy really need to be eating that?" That guy is me and I am huge. My reflection had matched perfectly with the guy eating on the other side of the window so it looked like I was eating that yummy donut. It was then that I became one of them. Actually, it was then that I saw myself as one of them. I had been one of them for quite a while. For the first time I saw just how big my 220 pounds is and how it looks to the rest of the world. Is this my wakeup call? Have I bottomed out? These questions are best left for the next entry.
I'm talking about fat people. That's not the nicest way to say it but I CAN because I'm one of them now. I'm a fat person. Even today as I walked down the street, I thought the above thoughts to myself. I think we all do. While I would never say anything and I mean no harm in my thoughts, they are ultimately negative. I could understand not being thin, I haven't been "thin" since I was in the 6th grade, but how do you let yourself get to be 50, 100, 200 or more pounds overweight? Isn't there a point when you stop and say, "I don't need to eat this!"? If only it were that simple.
I'm 5'9" and for most of my life have been around 165 pounds. Not fat but although I was very active, I neither worked out nor did situps and I never felt comfortable when taking my shirt off, so I didn't and used my Irish skin and it's lack of tanning ability as my excuse. Oh how I wish I was 165 pounds again. The last time I was 165, I was single, 37 and on the verge of loosing my war with depression.
I wasn't over eating but I was hooking up online and drinking. I knew exactly what I was doing. First I'd go online and find someone, then while I was getting ready, I'd have a shot or two of Vodka. I only had one or two shots - really big mouthfuls poured directly from the bottle - because I had to drive to my hook up and I didn't want to drink and drive. I figured the 10-15 mins I needed to drive was too little time for me to be affected by the alcohol but enough for me to start relaxing by the time I knocked on the door. About halfway to my destination, I'd down another mouthful or two and then for good measure I did another two before I got out of the car. I didn't just was to be relaxed, I wanted to be numb. The more numb I was, the more control I gave up and, I know this for a fact, the better I was. And the better the sex felt to me.
I was doing this several times a week, mostly with regulars or fb's but there was usually a new one too. Whether or not they used a condom when they fucked me it didn't matter. Some would put one on, if they asked I usually said yes to put one on, sometimes I'd say "You're the host, it's your responsibility to give me the most pleasure you can" and then there were the ones who would "Press their Luck." First they'd press their hard cock up and down my crack, then, depending on my response, they'd press their hard cock on my hole seeing how far I'd let them push it in. The key to "Pressing your Luck" was moaning. Moaning and wiggling my ass. It was like saying yes without having to actually saying yes. When I topped I'd always press my luck and I always got lucky.
Hooking up and drinking and not caring about safer sex was just part of the picture. I also started putting myself into higher risk, kinky situations. Bondage, groups, ws, toys, whatever. I didn't say no. Like I said, I knew what I was doing, I just didn't think about the cause or about fixing it. I never felt better afterwards and even during I was never 100% free of the knowledge of what I was doing or why. Fortunately, this period didn't last long. On 12/30, I was hooking up for the third time with M who was into the kinkier stuff. On this night, it was to be M and his two friends. Play started right away. I got on the bed next to the other boy and our Sirs went to work. About a half hour into it, M removed the dildo and his cock from my ass and ordered me to the bathroom. I knew what this meant, ws, and I was forced to crawl my way to the golden shower. I guess I should have been more concerned about drinking and crawling then drinking and driving. It became obvious to M that I was not in a condition to be played with (a gentleman). Although I begged, he refused to let me stay. Talk about bottoming out. I got in my car, barely able to walk and started for home. On my way, I called a friend and drunkenly poured out my feeling. I scared the hell out of her. A few days later she told me that she ended the call hoping I would calm down and be more focused on the road. It did help a little. As I waited for a red light to turn green, I realized that I was at the Green Lantern. Two thoughts went through my mind 1. I should stop and sober up some, and 2. while I'm sobering up maybe I can still hook up. I did both.
I was about to leave when I saw him across the room. He looked like Tim McGraw but he wasn't looking my way. So I crossed the room and made a space for myself next to him. I still couldn't catch his eye and was about to give up. We were at the bar in front of the karaoke stage and someone was attempting to sign an Allison Kraus song. He was way off pitch making almost impossible to recognize. When it finally hit me I almost screamed, "OH, it's Allison Kraus." He turned my way and said, "Thank you. I knew I knew it but damn, he butchered it!" That was all it took. We locked eyes and in an hour we were fucking. But it didn't turn out to be a wham, bam thank you now leave. It was more like wham, bam and passout. He had had his share of drinks that night too.
In the morning, he made us a great breakfast (we were at his house) and we talked. I would have stayed longer but I had to get to work. It was New Year's Eve and I think we both thought but didn't say "See ya later?" so instead, agreed to call on the next day. 12/31/01 would be the last night I would sleep alone for over a year. We fell hard for each other and fast. He was amazing, sweet, funny, handsome, kind, generous, thoughtful and meeting him saved my life. I have no doubts that if I hadn't, I'd be dead. How I don't know but I know I would be. That fact always haunted my love for him. Did I love him for him or for being a hero and saving my life? I think it was a lot of both. I never told him what I had been doing the hours and weeks before I met him. I was too ashamed.
We had our first date on New Year's Day and were together every day and night for 13 months before I had a business trip that he couldn't join me on. Our 8th day together he told me he loved me, I told him I loved him too. Laying in his arms, I had been thinking that I was in love with him and then he said those three words. On the 10th night we were dancing and he told me, "You don't know this yet, but you're going to marry me." I replied, "Are you sure I don't know that?" Day 14 he did ask me to marry him and I said yes. On Valentine's Day, day 45, I got down on one knee in the restaurant and said, "One month ago today, you asked me to marry you and I happily said yes. Tonight, will take this ring and wear it as a symbol of our love, engagement and commitment to one another?" With tears running down both cheeks he nodded. I placed the simple sterling silver ring on the ring finger of his right hand and then handed him a small white box with a matching ring for him to place on my finger. We kissed and the room broke into applause. It wasn't a gay restaurant and we were the only same sex couple. I didn't know I had created a scene but the warmth from the room just added to the magic of the night.
It maybe too late to say it now but I didn't intend to get into all of that when I started this but it was necessary. When I came back from that business trip, I knew it was over between us. I didn't know why at the time but I knew. It took several months before I spoke to him about it. I thought the feelings would change, I thought that it was the depression distorting everything and that it would eventually go away and everything would be alright. It's what I wanted. It's not what happened.
P was so understanding. He helped me find a therapist and I started therapy and anti-depressants. It took about 10 weeks but one day I realized that I wasn't in pain. It was an amazing moment. For me, depression is painful and had been a part of my life since i was 10 or so. I never wanted to kill myself but you wouldn't hear me complain about being murdered, in a fatal car accident or getting cancer either. I didn't cry (which is actually a problem) or burst into fits of laughter. I just became lethargic as I had to summoned more and more strength to get through the day. To keep up the appearance that I was fine and everything was okay. To be what I thought people expected me to be. It was so tiring and so dishonest. All I could think about was how much better I'd feel if a red hot poker were thrusted though my eye and into my brain or some variation on that theme.
Fast forward to today. It's been almost two years since P and I broke up. Life is better but I still have a way to go. I now weigh the most I ever have, 220. The funny thing, funny hmmm not funny ha ha, is that I don't see myself as big as I am. I know how big I've gotten by the way my clothes fit and by my reduced fitness but the image of myself in my mind has me looking like I did when I weighed 165. Conversely, my mind's image of myself was closer to what I look like today. That was until I became one of them. The mind can play cruel tricks on us.
As I was walking to work in the snow this morning, venti white mocha with whip in hand, I caught my reflection in a store window, and thought, "Does that guy really need to be eating that?" That guy is me and I am huge. My reflection had matched perfectly with the guy eating on the other side of the window so it looked like I was eating that yummy donut. It was then that I became one of them. Actually, it was then that I saw myself as one of them. I had been one of them for quite a while. For the first time I saw just how big my 220 pounds is and how it looks to the rest of the world. Is this my wakeup call? Have I bottomed out? These questions are best left for the next entry.
posted by Sean at 10:27 PM
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