JonahMountain
New member
Another lonely New Year's Eve, in a room full of people.
The clock has struck midnight, and streamers are falling, and champagne is spilling and couples are gazing into each other's eyes as I gaze on at the rest of them.
My friends, of course, as usual, have split off with girls.
Despite being the life of the party for two hours, I...have not.
I had them in tears, girls laughing at my jokes and amazed by my agile dancing despite resembling an ox in blue jeans. Then they went off with my silent friends who looked better in a long-sleeved shirt.
Now my own tears, the tears of a clown, are forming, only stifled back by the realization that, here I am, once more in the same situation I've been in so often.
They say fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me?
I've fooled myself twice. Double. Double-double. Animal style.
I've convinced myself that being fat is just like being a woman or black or tan or tall or smart or Czech or Zooey Deschanel. That it was just a thing.
I've convinced myself that being 290 pounds just ran in the family, that there was no running in this family. Then I looked around, and saw some chubby people at a family wedding, but not...this. Not...me.
I've convinced myself that despite five years of football and six years of baseball, I can't get back into it, that my career is too demanding and that my body couldn't handle any more stress.
I've convinced myself that the world turned me this way, that I focused so much on my intellect and humor and writing that my physical state was allowed to turn into what it has.
I did all that, at least.
Because it ends now.
It has to.
Screw it.
Time to get un-fat.
Any help/suggestions/comments/concerns/jokes you can provide would be much appreciated.
The clock has struck midnight, and streamers are falling, and champagne is spilling and couples are gazing into each other's eyes as I gaze on at the rest of them.
My friends, of course, as usual, have split off with girls.
Despite being the life of the party for two hours, I...have not.
I had them in tears, girls laughing at my jokes and amazed by my agile dancing despite resembling an ox in blue jeans. Then they went off with my silent friends who looked better in a long-sleeved shirt.
Now my own tears, the tears of a clown, are forming, only stifled back by the realization that, here I am, once more in the same situation I've been in so often.
They say fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me?
I've fooled myself twice. Double. Double-double. Animal style.
I've convinced myself that being fat is just like being a woman or black or tan or tall or smart or Czech or Zooey Deschanel. That it was just a thing.
I've convinced myself that being 290 pounds just ran in the family, that there was no running in this family. Then I looked around, and saw some chubby people at a family wedding, but not...this. Not...me.
I've convinced myself that despite five years of football and six years of baseball, I can't get back into it, that my career is too demanding and that my body couldn't handle any more stress.
I've convinced myself that the world turned me this way, that I focused so much on my intellect and humor and writing that my physical state was allowed to turn into what it has.
I did all that, at least.
Because it ends now.
It has to.
Screw it.
Time to get un-fat.
Any help/suggestions/comments/concerns/jokes you can provide would be much appreciated.