Fat Kids Unite!

I hope I'm not breaking any copyright laws here, but there's a Facebook group that makes me laugh everytime I see its name.  It's called Fat Kids United. I'm hoping that its creator is not one of the 3 people currently following my posts, and that I'm free to use it as the springboard for this entry.
One of the things I find most entertaining about this group is looking through the pictures of its members.  And, thanks for not asking, but I know you're probably wondering, so let's get this out on the table--I am not one of these people.  I find it hilarious that many members of this group are, according to their profile pics, the people who probably beat fat kids up in middle school or made them cry on the bus.  Why?  Because many of them are blonde, tanorexic, and model for Victoria's Secret on the side while putting themselves through school for a degree in dietetics.  Apparently, it makes you cool if you love chocolate chip cookie-dough ice cream, as long as you look like you don't eat it.  Look at me!  I eat Oreos for breakfast and I'm totally down with French fries but I'm still a complete hottie!  Doesn't that make me so, like, ironic?
You know when its awesome to be fat?  That would be a rousing NEVER.  And why am I so sure of this?  Because I, dear readers, am the original cool fat kid.
I remember being a normal weight when I was a kid.  It wasn't until my middle school years, which tend to bring out everyone's blossoming physical attributes such as acne, hairiness, and braces, that I began noticing I was different.  I was the funny girl, always getting in trouble for talking in class, and had plenty of friends.  I was smart, if you didn't count math as an important subject, and got along well with my teachers.  What's not to like? 
It became clear that I was different from the girls in my class, who possessed long, straight, blonde hair, big blue eyes, and lithe, athletic frames.  I, on the other hand, began to see firsthand the effects of my Puerto Rican heritage.  It is of note that the word "skinny" does not exist in PR's dialect of Spanish.  We come from short, thick, hearty, waistless stock--tall and willowy just doesn't cut it in the sugarcane fields, you know.  I also was blessed with hair that would make Diana Ross and Cher cry with jealousy.  It adamantly refused to lay flat against my head, no matter how hard my mom and I tried.  And because I was constantly trying to make it behave rather than working with its natural curl, I walked around with a strange, Brillo-pad type wedge attached to my head.  And let's not forget the times I cut it short in an attempt to make it more "manageable"--I ended up with one of the great pyramids of Egypt atop my shoulders. 
I remember when kids started making fun of me for being chubby.  It would hurt for awhile, but when I got home from school and reunited with my friend the Doritos bag, it seemed somehow less painful.  I began to see that I would not be accepted based solely on appearance, so it became clear I'd have to stand out in another way.  And as we fat girls know, what better option than to be The Smart Girl With A Great Personality?
So boys asked me for homework help rather than asking me to the movies.  That was okay.  The guys at my school were not of the high caliber I was searching to find.  I excelled in school, taking as many advanced placement classes and extra credits as I could.  I was polite to teachers, made my friends laugh, and mostly stayed out of everybody's way--well, the best I could, being "fluffy".  I had a group of 4 girls and 4 guys that I hung out with constantly, and I knew they always had my (wide) back. I even wrangled myself a boyfriend in 9th grade, and went to my senior prom with my best guy friend.  I had a huge crush on him, but of course never let on.  I knew that he got grief from his friends from offering to be my date, and was too embarrassed to ever let him see how I felt.
I tried to ignore my weight as it skyrocketed in high school.  But there were always events that brought it back to mind.  Each time we had class photos, I saw how much more there was of me compared to everybody else.  When we got measured for our choir dresses, I was the only one who needed a size 18.  My denial came to a swift end when I went back to my doctor for a sore throat that had been getting worse despite antibiotics I'd gotten the week before.  As the nurses (yes, two) tried desperately to find a vein in my huge arms to test my blood for mononucleosis, I heard the doctor say to my mom: "Well, the antibiotics were prescribed for a normal weight teenager, around 120-130 pounds.  She's 200."  I knew they thought I didn't hear them, but those words will never be erased from my memory.  I was the weight of someone on the defensive line of the football team.  I outweighed my friends, teachers, and even some of my friends' parents.  I didn't have a "1" in front of my weight like everyone else did.  I was two-frickin-hundred pounds.  How in the world did this happen?
After I graduated high school at an estimated 205-210 pounds, I decieded I wanted differently for myself.  People who know me and my weight-loss story ask me what made me change.  Alot of times I tell them that I knew I wanted to go into nursing, and wanted to be a healthy example to my patients.  That was part of it.  The other part is that I didn't want to be invisible anymore.  Like every 19 year old, I wanted to be asked out, go to the movies with someone, hear someone tell me those magical three words: "A, you're beautiful".  I wanted love, beauty, attention, acceptance, appreciation--all those things that seemed given freely to those around me.  And so I started.  Walking, on the treadmill, got my out of breath in 15 minutes.  But I kept going.  I stopped drinking my beloved Coke and Dr. Pepper, and began my love affair with diet caffeinated drinks.  The fast-food drive-thru workers at Taco Bell and Arby's quit sending me Christmas cards as I was no longer a repeat customer.
I started running.  Me, a fat chick!  I did everything--ancient and embarrassing Sweatin' to the Oldies tapes, lifitng dumbells, doing crunches, clipping exercise routines out of fitness magazines.  And by the time I reached my junior year in college, I had made it.  I was 125 pounds.  My pants were a size 2-4, with the occasional zero thrown in there just because I could.  And life was different. 
Different because I could go up the stairs without wheezing, my blood pressure was normal, and I could run for 8 miles at a time without stopping.  Different because people, for the first time in my life, SAW me, and didn't immediately pity, dismiss, or ignore me.  Different because my body was no longer a source of ridicule.  And yeah, I got asked out a bit more.
Long story--longer, I realized that being thin was freaking awesome, but it wasn't the answer.  Never being able to eat what your friends are eating, obessesing over calories, getting up at 4 AM to make sure my running was done, and feeling utterly controlled by food sucks.  I was hungry--ALOT.  I got very good at telling people I had just eaten dinner or had a big lunch or my stomach wasn't feeling well, so I didn't have to eat in front of them. I couldn't watch cooking shows without lusting after the meals. I smiled coyly when people would ask me, "Don't you ever just want a Snickers bar?"   I saw that I was turning to food as I always had--first for comfort, and now for control.  Had I been less squeamish about vomiting, I have no doubt bulimia would have gotten a grip on me. And because no one can restrict themselves forever, I began reaching for some of my old favorites.
It was around this time that I met my husband.  I was embarrassed that I wasn't as thin as I was previously when we met.  I was terrified he would wake up from the spell I'd cast on him one day, and see me as the fat girl I really was. But his eyes never saw that in me.  From the start, he told me each and every day how beautiful I was.  It wasn't easy to believe this, as he had the perfect physique with 2% body fat. But being with R made me realize that when he says something, he means it.  And when he said I was pretty, he really truly meant it.
  Being happy and in love isn't exactly great for dieting, though. All the runs we went on together didn't negate all those romantic dinners we had afterwards.  R eats very healthfully, but can eat anything and everything he wants without gaining, and I figured that perhaps I'd acquire that ability simply by hanging around him--skinny by osmosis.  Not so much.  I probably picked up 25-30 of the pounds I had lost from the few months before I met R until the time we had our second anniversary.  The Christmas that he gave me a treadmill was sort of a wake up call. He says its for both of us.  Right.  More like both of my thighs.
It is a thorn in my flesh, this battle with my body.  I am learning this time around, as I am attempting to lose weight and be healthier once again, that its not about the Krispy Kremes.  Its about a scared, depressed, lonely girl, who desperately wants to feel fulfilled--to feel FULL.  And if she can't be full of love and happiness, she might as well fill herself with whatever is available.
God created me--my saggy boobs, round tummy, pancake butt, and man-calves.  He created my natural curls, my deep brown eyes, and my full cheeks.  He created my stomach to growl for food, and He created my heart to hunger constantly for Him.  I will never find what I'm looking for, and am cursed to remain hungry, if I keep searching for it in the eyes of men, even my husband, or at the bottom of a pint of ice cream.  The journey is ongoing.  Today I will hit the gym and watch my carbs.  It is, after all, the hardest season of the year to lose or maintain weight.  And I will cry out to my Maker,  my High Priest who is able to sympathize with my weaknesses.  I am conviced that means that Jesus knows exactly what it feels like to be the fat girl no one wants.  But oh, how He wants me.  And always, always, will.  Thank you Jesus for teaching me my beauty, day by day.  Thank you for not giving up on this "fat kid".  Thank you for making me perfect in You.