stephes200

[stephes200]

[stephes200]

Some People Have My Back

I will not always be perfect. I need to be brave at this point in life, just keep pressing on. I need to stop hating myself for everything that I feel that I’m not and start loving myself for every little fetish that I already am. I’m slowly working on myself for myself all by myself, and I know that I will come out glittering and fabulous! I do like glitter. You all know by the mail you receive from me that you cautiously open that I will be somebody that nobody thought I could be.

Sometimes I really do think, “Screw this; I will just be a stripper!” Then I remember that I am fat, plus; I can’t really dance. I kind of like getting out onto the floor and trying to wiggle my big butt around with the bass that’s pounding from the speakers. Shaking my ass is really the closets I can come to actually dancing. I feel like all eyes are upon me and I am now the center stage. I need to put on the best performance that I have inside of myself. If I fail, I sense that’s all I will be remembered as: the fat girl who can’t dance. Glitter explodes everywhere.

I thought, perhaps, this was all just a dream. Maybe if I pinched myself, I would wake up again, that wild fun that had been in my head the night before would be true. I don’t really want to wake up. I wanted to stay in this dream world where I seemed able to walk into any store just to purchase that cute purple shirt I had seen the other day off the rack. It would fit perfectly, without even having to try it on. In the real world, though, I have two certain stores at the mall that have my big butt sizes. If I needed a specific size, I would look online because, for sure, I could find anything in this world. There would be no guarantee that it would fit, though, until it arrived upon my doorstep. I could always return it, postal included.

If I had that perfect, red carpet size Hollywoodish body I have that just appears in my mind when I get my weekly subscriptions, would I feel better? The apparent perfect body for a woman is shoved into my face every day by TV and magazines. Every magazine I see on the shelves has, what to me, is a tiny little Barbie that every man in this world seems to want. I know the imperfections I have, another finds attractive, thankfully. There are other shapes that others don’t seem to mind, either. All women worry about their bodies every day, but do the tiny girls think they won’t get the guys number over the hour glass ladies? We are all perfect in our own ways.

I remember 282. That’s a big number. It’s the biggest that has appeared on my scale in these past few months. One would think this number would be my motivation to lose this big butt that I love to sing about when I do go to karaoke; my one addiction. It’s not, though. I don’t really have one right now. I do hate my pants. I hope I didn’t have to re-stretch my t-shirts after I wash them. I still make the same wish to my fairy, who seems to have been on vacation for the past twenty years, the same wish when my head is on my pillow at night: I wish that it will be so simple for me to lose five pounds in one day, even if I just sneeze. Or maybe, I should just ask my fairy to finally motivate me to get off of my fat ass and actually try to do what I have been wanting my lazy self to do for these past six months; lose 50 pounds.

When I’m just wasting my days off on my computer, reading through my Pinterest for suggestions on how to actually shred these pounds, still continuing to sit upon my butt, with some salt or sugar in my hands, I find some interesting topics that keep my mind happy and frayed off of this certain matter in my life. At times, the random facts I always stumble upon always help me to get through the days. I always ponder if life is too short. I found that that is false. It is the longest thing that I do. Is there really any love in the air? False. Nitrogen, oxygen, argon and carbon dioxide are in the air. I have always wondered if it is darkest before the dawn? Nope; incorrect. Best possible darkness occurs at roughly two am. Growing up, we were all told that the United States is the land of the free, but, that is false. The USA has more prisoners per capita than any other country in this world. Is love all you really need? False. You need water and rations.

These were useless pieces of nothing that I need, but they make me feel that I have added to the emptiness that is filling my head. This emptiness that seems to fill my head is what I always believe how my stomach feels. I eat breakfast, lunch, dinner and other snacks in between the hours of the day. I know that I should wait between meals, but sometimes I wonder what my body really wants me to do. Mostly, I know I eat out of boredom. I know that I need to change all of this.

I wasn’t picked on when I was younger. I consider myself extremely lucky. I know that when growing up at a certain age, any girl is subject to bullying. I never really had too much trouble walking up to other children and just joining in on the fun. I always felt like I was supposed to have a boyfriend while in high school, though. Watching all my favorite TV shows and movies did not help me on this path in life. I thought the only reason no guy responded to my smiles was because I wasn’t the same shape as every girl in school. Maybe, I also hadn’t learned the correct way of hitting on guys yet. Nonetheless, I did not let myself sink into that black hole that I felt was trying to drag me down. I joined my school’s theater club to help me onto my happy path.

In my world, I felt awesome.  I was able to be up on that stage. These are people I am even still in touch with almost twenty years later. They did not judge me by my round butt, or wide hips. They did not care that fat hung off my arms or that I had to buy my clothes in the adult woman’s section. They liked me for me and feelings were mutual.

Even in my older years, I am still able to do this. I have days where I critic the way I look more than I’m sure any other person around me is doing. I think I’m more judgmental in these days now about my appearance than I was in my younger years. When I am getting ready to shower, I will stand just to pick and pull at every piece of my body in the mirror. I will mentally tell myself that I need to change what is in front of me. Even though there is a person in another room that I know loves me for me, I still feel that I need to wake up the next day and the body that I have been wishing for, for the past twenty years is what I hope to see the next day. I know this will change. I can feel it. My fat ass will always remain upon my body until my psychic will finally be correct about one thing in my life; a skinny Steph. Until then, I will continue to chant on about how much we all like big butts and know you know you cannot lie.

[stephes200]

I Don’t Think I’ll Ever Be a Writer

How do I become a writer when I can’t even begin to scribble out all of the ideas that are in my head? I want to tell each person about how my TurdFace and I met then fell in love just by him kicking me in my ass on our first date. I want to rewrite about that morning I awoke one in a hospital, strapped to a bed and hardly realized who my mom was. Maybe I could even make an attempt at writing fiction; I have a wild imagination. I try to make myself sit down and scribble a few times during the week. I want to be a writer! 

I have so many ideas from my Pinterest. Stupid Pinterest. How am I supposed to write about all that is in my head when I can’t even seem to motivate myself? I have my phone remind me roughly every three days to write, yet, when it goes off, I pick up no pen. I’m the same when it’s beeping at me to exercise. I cannot even think where to start. Where did all of these authors begin? Did they kick-off with the very first words in the paragraphs in their books that are sitting upon my shelf, or did it take them five years to write just one chapter? 

It doesn’t even matter what I write about. No person will read what I have to say. No one seems listens to me, so would they ever even read what I write about? I could walk into a room, filled corner to corner, shoulder to shoulder with people; wriggle my way up onto the stage just to be ignored as I was shouting through a megaphone that there were free tacos at the bar.  So why would anyone want to read about what I have been doing these past few months? I may be about to print all of these stories, maybe about a certain somebody, just so I can throw them away. The world may never know. 

My life is still standing. It may all be in one piece, but why even continue to write? Does anyone, other than my mom, even read any of this? If you do; please raise your hand. I need to be acknowledged in some way. I need to not feel ignored. You may say that I’m not, but I often think that I am. 

When I think plans were made between me and somebody, my excitement begins to build as that day approaches. I repeatedly glance at my phone, expecting a reminder or a mention of what we had spoken of a few weeks prior to this date. Then, when that day arrives and my phone is still empty, my messages ignored; my emotions of loneliness and aggravation begin to rise inside of me. My phone is empty. My life is empty. I am empty. I could write out all of emotions inside, to help ease out the sores; still no one would care. 

I could be in a room with other people, talking to some of them about the excitement in my life. Suddenly, another person feels that what they have to say cannot wait a single second longer, so they must explode into the middle of my conversation, drawing all attention away from me.  I can’t seem to get this attention back to me. When I try to, word over word, to take over; nothing. I can’t even try to begin a new conversation, from any individual person, when there are a few seconds of silence. I begin to speak, but then another person does and BAM! All attention is on them. So I just slink back into my dark hole. So how do I get people to notice a few words on my post-its?

 I should do that one day. Just disappear, like my ideas for writing tend to do. If I had a better car, I would just hop into it to drive anywhere and everywhere without mumbling a word to anyone. If I had the ability to venture away from my pharmacy for more than 30 days, I would do this as well. Yet, as I am one of those individuals who cannot go a single day without taking their medication, I feel like my grandma. Well, in a way, I can, yet I would just be on the floor, arms and legs swinging around from side to side, my mind having no idea who any person in the room was. Not that I ever do, even now. 

As a Stephanie, I am a person. I am spiritually intense. My name brings love and new stars into life. I do feel that I have more love for people or whoever’s, no matter how much they aggravate me. I do tend to have an exciting life, if I do say so myself.