So, unless you’ve been living under a proverbial rock (or didn’t read this
post, or just don’t know me well), you should know that I don’t like mi
cuerpo (= my body). I just don’t. Looking back over time, I don’t think I’ve
ever liked my body. The time I weighed 9st 4lb (being a 5ft 11″ male, that put me at clinically underweight) was probably the point when I was happiest with myself. Though, suffice it to say, it was the time when everyone
else was concerned over how much I ate and how much I weighed.
And rightly so, to be honest. I ran every day and refused to eat over 1600 calories. Considering that, at the time, I was a 15-year-old, I’m sure this didn’t do much good for my growing into a man. This may explain why my hips are so frumpy, much like a woman’s.
Anyway, so yeah, I don’t like my body. I just don’t. I can’t help it. In fact, there’s more truth to that ‘not being able to help it’ than you might realise. I’ve spent absolute months in therapy talking about my weight and my body and related crappage, and yet I’ve still not really ever gotten comfortable with it. Blame society, or my parents, or my school, or whomever, I just haven’t.
But don’t be mistaken! More than ever in my life, I’m the kind of guy that wants to make things better, even though I might not feel like it to start with. I’ve tried diets and exercise regimens and exercise this and exercise that. At one point I ran 5 miles every day (and practically did my knees in for life!). At another point, I ran ever day before school for twenty minutes and then did weightlifting four times a week. I’ve done it and I’ve been there and I’ve done that.
And even on the ‘diet’ side (not like Atkins Diet, but as in watching what I eat), I’ve had a very good stab (or, well, multiple stabs). I’ve tried protein powders (not skinny boy ‘I want bulk fast’ protein powder!) and have had more multi vitamins go through my body than I’d care to admit. I’ve tried raw foodism, pescatarianism, vegetarianism (and, obviously, am a vegan now). Suffice it to say, there’s no magic pill! Well, at least not from my perspective.
And okay, I’m not over-weight or obese or even particularly large by most people’s standards. But as most people should know, just because the charts and the BMI indexes and everything else says I’m not fat, doesn’t ever mean that I’m going to feel any different.
And, well, as mentioned in
this post, jealousy is my biggest vice. I’m just a jealous person. I can’t help it. It’s who I am. I’m quite jealousy of
this guy who I’ve mentioned
here. Now, I don’t know why, but I’ve always been quite envious of both his body
and his ability to,
uhm, ‘parade’ it about. Being an individual who has
never, ever been proud or liked or EVER shown his body to anyone else [without feeling endlessly uncomfortable], there’s always been a tinge of ‘what if’. You know, what if
I could do that. What if
I had a body I was proud of.
And, well, it just makes me think. On Twitter we briefly had some exchanges and, naturally, I asked him how he had such a body like he does. He told me, and I quote:
And, well, it just struck me a little. Well, struck me a lot. I’m sure that ‘+exercise’ is actually that he does a lot of exercise all the time, ‘+good diet’ means that he eats really, really well, and that ‘-stress’ means that he uses a lot of the About.com Stress Resources (or something). But, well, it just didn’t seem very fair. I could write books on my experiences with fighting my food-loving, exercise-resisting body, and yet he can sum it up in about 40 characters.
And so it struck me, though I know it doesn’t really make much sense and, quite possibly, there’s more than meets the eye, but: Hey, you, that’s MY body!
Maybe it’s jealous envy, maybe I’m just being silly or maybe I’m just missing the magic ingredient which I’ve come to think doesn’t exist, but whatever it is, surely I should have that body. Surely I should be there. Surely something should be different.
And so I jealous, therefore I am.
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Go take a breather. That’s blog post #1 down. :]
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When exactly do people go wrong?
I recently (as in today) read an account by a woman who I’ve begun to get to know via Twitter about when she was date raped that she posted on
Violence Unsilenced. As I finished her piece and began scanning down the many other accounts of abuse that were listed below, it seriously got me thinking.
As much as I’d like to think differently, not every person is as kind or friendly as the people that live in the little village that I reside in. I want to wish differently, but I know it’s just not true. And what got me was the idea that, well, there are people out there not that have received abuse (which I am well aware there are and I hope that, if one should be reading this, that they get out of there and get help as soon as possible), but rather, there are the givers.
It’s weird though, isn’t it? When exactly is the point when a man (or, sometimes, a woman) has that change in their mind that emotionally, physically or sexually abusing anyone is okay? Is it a transition or is it just a switch-flipped and they become abusers?
And so this is the question I am posing: When exactly do people go wrong?
I mean, we’re not talking making a mistake with some sort of mathematical equation or not citing a source in a paper correctly, we’re talking about not abusing people. We’re talking about not inflicting suffering on people: when does a person suddenly go sour and begin doing these things? It just doesn’t make sense to me.
And okay, I’ll be the first to say I’ve lived a relatively sheltered existence by living in this semi-backwater village which has a high population of elderly folk and parents. But still, it just doesn’t make sense to me. When does it suddenly occur in the mind of the abuser, rapist or molester that, oh yeah, abusing someone is A-okay and that you aren’t going to be condemned by society for it?
Where does that switch occur? When? Why?
In fairness, I can understand why the horny high-schooler may try to take advantage of his date when he drives her to prom and then just happens to take the wrong turn and they end up at make-out creek and then zombies attack them… or something. But, horny teenagers aside and molesting catholic priests front and centre: when exactly does that priest, who devotes his life to piety and holy scripture suddenly change from man-of-the-cloth to rapist or molester?
And quite frankly, I’d like to know why individuals like the Pope proclaim that two consenting males or two consenting females can’t have intimate relations with each other but wafts swiftly and without notice over the situation where one side is most clearly NOT consenting.
And so, sadly, I frown, therefore I am.
