the sugar the dripped from the violin’s bow [part 2].

Day 27 | Dry as Grandma’s Turkey + Will the Skin Between My Thighs Ever Have Clearance

My mom’s always asking me, like it’s the plainest, simplest situation in the world, “Don’t you want to get thin again?”

No, Mom, I love being fat.

I love that I have to get on all fours and leverage myself up off the floor with my hands like a retard because my ass is so huge.

I love when I walk by a piece of furniture, my hip catches it.

I love that I don’t fit in comfortably behind the wheel.

I love…aw, shit.

One day recently she asked me why I put on all the weight. This is a line of questioning that has the qualities of a needle-stuck-on-the-record.

Usually I say nothing and shrug.

This time I told her I’m frustrated with life.

She had no response.

I actually stumped her.

She got on the bandwagon and started the HMR diet last Tuesday. Yesterday I watched her eat three hot dogs at her dining room table. Well, 2 1/2. She offered me one over my matchbook-size HMR entree then gave the other half to my brother. As she indulged, she said what she always says when she’s eating something good.

“I haven’t eaten a hot dog in so long.”

She ate a hot dog at my place 28 days ago.

Then over my father’s birthday cake it was, “I haven’t had a piece of cake in so long.”

Last week, Mom. You had a piece of cake last week at Husband’s 65th birthday bash.

“How ’bout a glass of wine, Ginny?”

My sister, who I rarely see and haven’t know in forever, gave my father a nice bottle of Cab.

“No thanks, Dad. No alcohol on the diet.”

[that’s my pretend excuse for the bigger picture]

Not sure he heard me. He went to rest in his chair—you know, the cancer.

I revert: “Don’t you want to get thin again?”

In her brain, does my mother actually think I think like that?

I want to prevent anything and everything in order to stay fat and not be thin.

A few weeks ago she told me no one is going to hire me being so heavy and accompanied by a [service] dog.

Why can’t I say, what the fuck is wrong with you?

If I’m your daughter and you care for me, why do you talk to me like that?

You realize that you’re talking to yourself, don’t you? A case of projection? You’re well over a hundred pounds overweight. Hello?

Why did YOU gain all the weight?

She was riding my dad hard yesterday, over nonsense things, and he something back at her incredibly poignant. I had to suppress a smile and giving him a high-five.

“It’d make you happy if I were invisible, wouldn’t it?”

This is the same woman that sat next to me a week ago as I explained the HMR diet and she said, “I’m scared about your father, he’s not doing good.”

Lash out, lash in.

I don’t fucking get it.

 

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