It’s taken a long time for me to accept that I’m just fat, and that’s fine.
Part of the struggle is all the societal bullshit, sure. But also, my body is a fucking prankster. It stores my fat in such a way that I look like I should be a Hollywood muscle type. I’ve got broad shoulders and a square jaw with no double chin, and my legs from the knees down are sculpted. But then I just have extra padding on top of everything else. I have the body type of Stan Smith from American Dad. I look like depressed Clark Kent.
The promises of “the body you always dreamed of” seem so real because I look in the mirror and go, “Y’know, I’m really not that far off.” So I keep cramming myself into a size 38 waist whenever I can, and if I can’t, then I’ll give up on buying new pants and just wear that ripped and shitty pair I’ve had for ages that’s already pre-loosened, because clearly these new ones are broken.
But the other day I decided to try a new pair of 46 x 32 Levis. And you know what? 38 can suck it. These new jeans are the best fit I’ve ever had. I’m fat, and now that I can walk freely, I’m off to save the world.