The Bells of Epiphany: Or, Scissors, Fandom, and my Fat Ass
I overinvest emotionally in all relationships both real and metaphoric. Um--cue the bells of epiphany. But you know how it is, or maybe you don't, that whole mad throwing of yourself into something and expecting a silver-plattered world in return. When it's not Fed-Exed to your doorstep, you get bitter and growly, and, man, with a Significant!Birthday fast approaching and my life for the past year falling into surprisingly good places, I've had to borrow the scissors of Atropos to snip away those emotion-gunky threads self-binding me to stupid illusions. Because that's where freedom is, and freedom's joy Vogue-dressed.
I've been going all CSI on myself lately, going guts-deep to do forensic work on the whys and hows of everything burbling and bloody in there, and when the truth's unfolded, cleaned and held to the ultra-violet light it's so simple and clean and easy that I'm almost suspicious of it. Just chill, baby, and follow the joy. Before this, I followed everything, joyful or hurty, and wound up twisting myself into Gordian knots; I'm smarter now and know to do recon work, testing the waters to ensure I'm not stepping in shit and calling it a pilgrimage.
Fandom has been one of those over-invested, twisty relationships for me. I threw myself into it, read everything, beat myself up if I didn't watch or respond or post or write or rec or a million other things, and I was ending up snarly as a kicked dog. At it, rather than at me for being such an anal obsessive freak. (Anal obsession has its place, of course, but in a different context. Badum-bum.) I needed to compartmentalize what gave me pleasure here and what irritated me to all fuck, and then to give up the all-fucked parts, one of which is the crazy-making impulse to force myself to like what I don't. There's nothing wrong, after all, with disliking some sides of the fannish hexagon just because a better, smarter person would love 'em. I'm not that better, smarter person; I'm me, and the fact that I have quirks and quiddities different from some of the other kids just means I'm a different kind of freak in the big ol' circus of fandom.
Stepping back from fandom to the bigger picture, real-life and cyber-life mixed: for a number of years I literally couldn't answer the question "Why do some people like me?" No one should ever be such a dumb-ass not to have an answer to that question, but, hey, I own that dumb-assedness. It's just that with all the changes I've undergone in the last year-plus, I'm starting to find an answer: mostly, it's because I *do* throw myself into things, big things and microscopic things, and a few souls like to warm the hands beside the fire. And when I throw myself into good things, settle in the happy place and build a bonfire, more people drop by, marshmallows in tow. At the same time, I need to remember that most slices of life come with a mix of tasty and bitter, and I can just pick out the yucky stuff instead of throwing away the whole slice. In other words, I kept thinking, "Oh, I should leave fandom because !@#$!@#$!@," when the reality is I just need to pick out the raisins. (Raisins gross me out: every time I bite it one I feel like I'm biting into a bug. Gag.)
I think sometimes that losing weight has been less the shedding of physical fat than the shedding of the past, that I've been sloughing off layers of old choking beliefs. NOT to say that fat = symbolic unpleasantness, just that the fat I shed was bound up in psychological baggage. I certainly have many plump, juicy parts remaining, and I embrace those. (Ass, you will never be small yet I love your cushioning, Monroesque softness. Thighs, you have never been nor will you ever be thin, yet you are squeeze-worthy and bountifully fabulous! And so on...) Bodies, big and beautiful, small and beautiful, should be loved for what they are; I simply lost sight of that and withheld the love.
Part of me's thinking, "Why am I posting this?" but then I tell that voice to fuck off. Why not post it? If it matters to no one else, it matters to me so why hide that in my head?