You gained a little, my dad said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Does it bother you?
I just told him about a weird dream I had. I was suddenly very obese and couldn’t move properly. He took it as a sign that I was bothered by the weight I apparently gained.
I just hope S. [will not be further identified] won’t comment on it on Sunday, he said. Wait, what? Sure, I gained a little bit but that was all it was, a little bit. I’m still very much in the “normal” range. I still don’t feel particularly insecure about it when I have my clothes on, and trust me, weight gain is a subject I usually feel insecure about as soon as I notice it. I totally didn’t see this coming.
Apparently, my family sat down in a circle and discussed my weight. S. started the conversation, my granddad probably agreed and my mother was silently chopping their heads off, furiously. How dare she bring that up? Like they hadn’t noticed. Like I hadn’t noticed. Like I didn’t have other things to worry about, like recovering from a severe chronic illness.
Aside from the fact that I did not see this one coming and do not think my weight gain is worrisome at all, what bothered me most about this family newsfact was that when S. saw me and thought of me, she decided it was totally normal to bring up my weight. That was the thing she wanted to discuss when it comes to me, someone who has been severly ill for the last two years. I’d think that there are more interesting things to talk about when it comes to me. There are a lot of things one can ask me. Do you still go to therapy? Are you able to read again? Are you able to use the computer again? How about that blog of yours, how’s that coming? Do you get nice responses? Are you helping people? I heard you’re thinking of starting a course to slowly get back to University, tell me about that? You just adopted a dog, how is that going? Are you able to walk longer distances now? Heard you’re walking through nature every wednesday with your dad, what an amazing accomplishment!
But, no. Me gaining some weight is the higher priority. And I said it before, and I’ll say it again: I did not gain much. AT. ALL. I’m the first to agree that gaining weight usually is a bit worrisome, especially when you’re gaining a lot of it, and fast. One can worry about that if one cares about you, or just likes to gossip. But that is not the case at all.
Yes, I did gain a little. It’s kinda logical. When you don’t have the energy the vacuum most days, you certainly don’t have energy to go to the gym for an hour. Work up a sweat. I work up a sweat when I do the dishes. I have a very healthy diet. And I refuse to eat less and be hungry in order to lose the little bit of weight I gained. I need my strength to recover from this awful illness. That’s more important than looking perfect. I need energy to be a good girlfriend, to walk my dog, to function. I’d rather have a bit more of me and function, than that I have the perfect beach body but can’t go to the beach.
So if S. asks me about it on Sunday, I think this is what I will respond: Yes I heard that was bothering you. But, like, why?!
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