A Bitch Got Fat.

That "F" word can be really triggering or polarizing but I'm An Old and I use accurate words to describe things that are real, and I. Am. Fat. How do I know? Well, besides having pretty decent vision and a working mirror: my back and joint pains have increased, my belly sticks out and hangs like a trash bag full of pudding, and my snoring has gotten so much worse.

Now, because I'm gifted in height, it took a while for it to really show, but then one day I took a selfie and thought WHO THE FUCK IS THAT FAT BITCH? Clothes that I've owned and comfortably worn for years no longer fit, and then rock bottom: I sat down and my jeans gave up on life. That's when I really knew.

"You can't be fat AND mean, Raquel"

I got on a scale and a number I never thought I'd see associated with me popped up; 252lbs. I'm not sure how you deal with bad news, but my way is to feel defeated, fall into a shame spiral wherein I identify and dwell on every wrong decision I ever made, then escape into a new hyperfixation while completely avoiding the obvious solutions. It's so much fun in my brain, I wish I could sell tickets!

And a lot of things contributed to this; not the actual lockdown but life after, where everyone walks around maskless and not social distancing and coughing into the open air as if Covid never happened. That shit stresses me out. Being in a stagnant relationship that I refuse to make a decision about one way or another, stresses me out. Being underemployed and in a financial crisis stresses me out. Worrying about my daughters' well-being stresses me out. Worried that my mom isn't progressing in her recovery the way we thought she would, and the pressure it adds onto my sister and brother-in-law, stresses me out. THE GOVERNMENT COUP THAT IS CURRENTLY TAKING PLACE WHICH MAKES ME FEEL HELPLESS AND POWERLESS, STRESSES. ME. OUT. And when I stress out, I EAT & SHUT DOWN, a combination well documented for its ability to fatten people up.

If I could just be 100% depressed only, then I could lose some weight, you know? Because that's when I lose interest in food altogether. Ahhh, I miss only being depressed...

(I will share, however, the one major positive of looking like someone's Big Momma... no more catcalls in these streets. PRAISE ALLAH.)

So what do I plan to do about it? *kanyeshrug* Does this blog post not count as something being done?

I think I'm sharing this out loud because if/when you see me in these streets wearing a mumu or complaining about my diabetes acting up (who are we kidding, it's only a matter of time), I don't want you to be surprised and wonder, "what happened to that hot Dominican blogger I used to fantasize about?" I'll tell you what happened, a bitch got fat.

Love & Balls,

Jaded

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like the scar of age

written all over my face

the war is still raging inside of me

i still feel the chill

as i reveal my shame to you

i wear it like a tattoo