I think it’s funny when people mention my weight.
Or rather, lack thereof.
Sometimes I smile and agree and say, Yep. I’m a thin one, and sometimes I recommend the simple, My-husband-had-an-affair-and-that’s-not-even-half-of-it-diet.
Which response do you think makes people feel like they wish they had just never mentioned my weight in the first place?
And it’s weird, sometimes I will just stare at my legs or my arms or my fingers and I will marvel how they are me. Still me, I mean. Because I should look different now, after everything that’s happened, I mean.
There’s this line from Justin Timberlake’s song, Like I Love You, that says, If it’s up to me your face will change. It always stands out to me. And not just cause Justin sings it and let’s face it, he’s dreamy. But I always thought he was referring to how your face should reflect whatever is happening on the inside.
And that’s what surprises me sometimes; that I still look the same.
Minus, I suppose, the platinum hair and some bad*** roots.
I remember going back to work after I found out just a little bit of what was going on–not the whole sinking titanic of the story, per se, but the tip of the iceberg was finally visible. And I remember putting on my makeup before my show and just staring at my face, wondering how my eyes were still that same color. Cause, you know, they used to look at the world like we were all friends, like there was some sort of sensible bartering system that I was a part of. I’d give my best and then I’d get that in return. I didn’t realize that history has a strange way of repeating itself. That I’d let someone in, show him everything I knew about life and love, and then get a blanket full of smallpox in return.
It wasn’t a good idea then and it isn’t a good idea now, but turns out people are still handing them out like candy. And it also turns out that the Native Americans aren’t the only ones trusting enough to reach out and grab them. And then die for their efforts.
Or nearly die, anyway.
And then there’s something else, too.
Running.
I started doing it back in December, I guess. I hurt so much that it was either beat myself up in a way that looked healthy–at least from the outside–or run right into walls. Also, the endorphins didn’t hurt. And you don’t get nearly as many endorphins from just running into a wall. And yes, I know.
So I’d go to the YMCA and I’d listen to P!nk. She has written songs that are mad enough at some jerk, that sometimes I wonder if we’ve talked before. You know, compared notes. I mean, come on:
If someone said three years from now
you’d be long gone
I’d stand up and punch them out
cause they’re all wrong.
I know better cause you said forever
and ever, who knew?
And sometimes it felt like the choice was either to run in circles at the Y, or to run away forever. And, well, my family was going through enough without having a runaway on their hands too.
And the thing is, I always hated running. Mostly because it hurt so much, I guess. And maybe that was a part of why I chose to do it; it helped to feel all that hurt on the inside matching all the hurt on the outside too. Felt consolidated. It was like what Justin said, my face was changing. Or at least turning red and I was panting for breath, which is something.
But then I was running today and I suddenly realized that I wasn’t running cause I was so mad anymore. And I wasn’t running cause I hurt so much anymore, either. Not that I’m no longer mad at all. And God knows, it’s not like there aren’t black little tear marks on my pillow from crying before I washed off my mascara for the night.
But now, I ‘m listening to Kanye’s Stronger while I run. And I’m thinking about how it can be true, anyway: that which don’t kill me, can only make me stronger. And I’m thinking about how my brother texted me this question:
do you really think life will be okay a few years down the road?
And how I wrote him back this:
do I think life will be okay? I think it will be beautiful; it will be a summer day that is finally clear again–cause all the dust and humidity will be washed away from the violence of the storm.
And I think about how those aren’t just words, but I truly believe them. I feel them in my bones. And everybody knows that bones don’t lie. And how strange, cause my bones are so busy running now, and I kind of like it. And I’m not feeling that jumpy need to run away so much anymore; I’m kind of content to run in circles, since that seems to be my other and better option right now.
Your words are beautiful. Thank you for being so transparent and hopeful. I love you.
well, thank you for reading and for being so kind…:)
Your words are like a glass of fresh water……….
I could say the same about you, often.
beautiful post..you are so strong and brave..i admire you so much..
thank you, sarah…you have helped me so much…and I admire you:)
Up until Mandy chimed in there was an almost fortune cookie quality to these comments.
Your writing will have new adventures soon.
Haha. That makes me think of the fortune cookie my friend Erin opened yesterday – “You will be successful in the entertainment industry.” Methinks it was slightly more suited for you.
haha well, jase–my writing HAS sorta seen some new adventures. I mean, I never woulda guessed that any of this would be on this blog, you know? And Mandy–don’t sell poor Erin short!
Oh, it’s not that Erin couldn’t rock an open mic night. I just think she’s better suited in the industry she’s in.
1) My sister-in-law is very thin too, and when she was being fitted for wedding dresses, people kept saying “you’re too skinny! You need to gain weight!” and it really offended her. She was like “would you tell people they’re too fat and needed to lose weight?” It’s so weird that people would be okay with bringing up your weight when generally that’s considered rude. Guess it’s just because you look so good.
2) My brother has Ulcerative Colitis, which is why he’s also very thin, and when you said “sometimes I recommend the simple, My-husband-had-an-affair-and-that’s-not-even-half-of-it-diet.” it made me think of how sometimes when people say something about his being thin he’s like “it’s really easy! All you have to do is get a chronic disease!” and it makes people shut up. And he thinks that’s pretty funny.
3) “do I think life will be okay? I think it will be beautiful; it will be a summer day that is finally clear again–cause all the dust and humidity will be washed away from the violence of the storm.” Wow. Wow. Wow. This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read from you. Thank you for that.
Oh my gosh, I bet people shut up after your brother mentions his chronic disease and how THAT keeps him nice and trim! And I’m sorry to hear about that…:( yeah, I think it’s probably best just to steer clear of the issue of how others look, unless of course, it is an indisputable compliment cause those are always welcome:-)
Yeah, it’s pretty funny to see the looks on peoples’ faces when he says that. Of course, nothing in our house is off-limits, so it’s not like anybody minds when we make fun of it. That, or my mom’s MS. Or all the blood clots… man, we sound really diseased.
girl, I hear you about nothing being off limits, YOu should hear some of the jokes I make with my family and close friends. And man, we sound messed up…!!!
Hahaha I know exactly how that is.
From my brother:
http://shaneandcassandra.com/features/ms_bike_ride.html
Okay jokes about MS and Colitis are one thing. But when you’re making fun of blood clots, you’ve crossed a line.
lol. Yes, I know. I’m sorry. That was out of line.
Actually, the story there is that everyone in my immediate family (as well as 3+ grandparents) has had life-threatening bouts with blood clots – my mom had them when she was about my age and miscarried twice and almost died because of them, then a few years ago, my dad had a pulmonary embolism (blood clot in the lung… well, actually, SIX in his lungs) and had a long ICU stay in which the doctors were a little surprised he made it out alive, and then about a year after that my brother had a pulmonary embolism as well.
I’m the only odd one out. And they make fun of me because I’m not in their fancy “I almost died with a blood clot” club.
Sooooo the moral of the story is, walk around a lot when you’re traveling (5 minutes every 1-2 hours), especially if you’re on birth control. (Or if you’re me, don’t take birth control at all, or you have to die).
IF it makes you feel better Jessica – I actually think you could stand to lose a couple pounds.
Hahahahahaha.
don’t worry, Jase, I’ve taken up running…gonna get those LB’s off in a jiff…
One of the things I loved best about a (very brief) season of my life when I was running was the rhythmic cadence that set sort of a white noise in the background which made a great canvas for prayer, sorting my thoughts, hearing from God… I miss that, but I don’t miss waking up early to do it!
yep, I like that rhythm too, Susan…
This post makes me happy.
YOU make me happy.
“do I think life will be okay? I think it will be beautiful; it will be a summer day that is finally clear again–cause all the dust and humidity will be washed away from the violence of the storm.”
I am so happy that you are in a place where you can see that happening in your life…see it as a real event, not just words!
me. too.
So much…:)
Yay, running! Glad you’ve seen the light!
I’m glad that you have such great hope.