The weight on my driver’s license is a lie—a complete fabrication that may have been true at one time, but it’s just speculation at this point. I renewed my license and picked a weight I could live with. I didn’t go crazy, but there was a good thirty-pound difference between reality and what I wanted to believe. I knew the man taking my picture wouldn’t dare challenge my creative license.
Now, to complicate things further, my bank is nosy and asks what the weight on my driver’s license is every time I pay a bill online. The answer is the lie I used two licenses ago—a good twenty-five pounds less than the current lie. To be fair, I really was all those weights at one time, just not on the days I visited DMV. Everything else on my license is true—my eyes are blue and I’m a donor. Generally, I lie a little, but not a lot (unless you count each pound, then yes, I lie a fuck- ton).
I never struggled with my weight during my teenage years. I thought it was perfectly normal to see one’s ribs. I don’t remember thinking much about it. My mom was a great cook when she was so moved, but I mostly ate free lunches at school and cereal for dinner. Usually just one or the other. My tummy was too nervous to eat, anyway. Growing up in fear and uncertainty tends to do that. Now when my tummy is nervous, I eat past that shit.
I didn’t become all-consumed about my weight until my first year of college. My tummy grew accustomed to the three meals per day offered in my dorm. Did you hear what I said? Three meals per day! That was two meals more than I usually had. As an added bonus, my boyfriend took me out to eat on the weekends. I had won the lottery. My prize was fifteen extra pounds my freshman year. I gained another fifteen by the time I got married the end of my junior year. I was still skinny—my dress size was still in the single digits, I wore a bikini on my honeymoon, and the weight on my driver’s license was true. My first baby and twenty extra pounds came along after graduation. I gained even more weight after the second baby. Looking back, I would love to be that weight again. I gained more, lost some, gained it back and then some.
My body changed. There was a lot more of me. Things that were solid now jiggle and sag from added weight. I keep trying to push my tummy fat up to my boobs, but it doesn’t work. I mean, if I’m going to be overweight, I should at least get to have bigger boobs. No such luck. My butt has a shelf my cat lounges on when I’m trying to get ready in the morning.
Having grown up without much food, I make sure I have plenty around. I over-feed my pets, house guests, and myself. When I feel bad, I eat. When I feel good, I eat. It’s my reward for making it through dark times. I recently realized my reward was hurting me, so I’ve made some changes. Starbucks, Dairy Queen, and food trucks miss me, I’m sure. My goal is to get to the weight on my driver’s license.
No more lies.