ANOREXIC NUTCASE

Dear Nikitz,

Finally, I’m giving myself a break! I’ve been babysitting for almost half the day    already…my arms’ are about to fail me…my back’s killing me and I look like I haven’t been sleeping for weeks. NO MAKE UP. NO SKIMPY SHORTS (what I have right now can cover my entire legs and still, they call it "walking shorts”?!).NO SEXY TOPS (to compliment my overgrown boobs - but at least they’re full-sized already,’can at least make me feel sexy but still, it’s no use as of now…’must probably wait for at least a couple of months!) I got hippo-zit all over my face and my back, and I definitely feel like a baboon for having a new set of oversized butt and hips (even my old pants can’t get through them). And worse, I can feel the folds of my flabby stomach every time I sit. Meaning, I can feel it right now. Oh, and here’s the best part - money isn’t flowing at a steady stream. I’m sick and tired of budgeting, dealing with our financial cold spells and worse, dodging emotional blackmails. But mind you, I’m not complaining!!!! (tinatakot lang kita.heheh)

In the face of all these, it’s still unconditional, my love for Dylan, I mean. It’s a great feeling of entirety you know (maybe akin to your feeling when you finally made your way out of that something you thought you couldn’t actually make your way out of…like under your aunt’s tyrannical thumb.ayt?) It’s like getting away from your fears, bitterness, insecurities and issues in just a heartbeat. I have plenty of baby-mother-bonding with Dylan to fill in the void left by my “singlehood.” Plus, I earned Ahmad’s fidelity and mushiness (who wouldn’t be tortured with guilt seeing your wife’s huge eye bags and daily shit-in-the-diaper encounters?)

He’s not a cold-hearted creature after all.

Still, the sex (and sexiest) Goddess (at least that’s what Ahmad keeps on reminding me),
Djai

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Amazing, huh? I needed Nikita’s (my Anne Hathaway-pretty girlfriend with a geeky-cute booty) opinion (syn.- sympathy) on this (motherhood) considering she’s one of those few cynical friends I had who can punch me in the head with a one-liner. Too bad, I could not even remember her response to this letter. My mind was too zipped tight to accept any empathy on this matter thinking that anyone would of course tell me what I wanted to hear.

It is true, I got stucco-looking cellulites on my thighs and a busted horse’s ass that needs replacing. But neither my folks nor Ahmad will pay for lipo just yet. It was like, humankind survived Y2K but my world was, like, coming to an end. Exag, right? But wait till you see my gruesome STRETCH MARKS dominating the vastness of my body. I can almost hear them scream “invade, invade!”. *cringe*.

Of course guilt sporadically tortured me, with me knowing that I ought to be grateful (not remorseful) for what Dylan’s existence has brought me. I knew I had to get rid of my selfish rants and ravings over my physical warp and distort. But HELLER??? Who would not be disturbed with such hideous and unearthly pockmarks? And I am waaaaaaay too young to look like a mom. Maybe I would not even care to zip my zit or lay out immediate action if ever I am on my mid-age but reality check dude, I was only 18! Too young to deteriorate…too young to get worse…Besides, Ahmad and I had this cute pact that requires us to look good (and sexually stimulating) for each other. We wanted to bring out the Aubrey Miles and Troy Montero in us (har-dee-har-har), for us to be like, first time lovers forever with all those throbbing and pulsating passion and “kilig” moments. We wanted to plow our tongues down each other’s throats without eeking out on each other. I want to be dressed in the most reveeeealing item in my “whoredrobes” without losing my shit and hiding my stretch mark or belly flabs (it wastes a lot of time trying to conceal them you know)

I WANTED TO BECOME THE FULL-FLEDGED ANOREXIC OF MY DREAMS!!! Get the picture?!

Or maybe…I just mostly feared the thought of Ahmad banging bimbo after bimbo partly because I look like a walking scar and a WWF she-male…*sob*

So in order to have this “equilibrium” between my responsibility to Dylan and my being Aubrey Miles (again, hehehe), I channeled all my negative energy into becoming a gym master. Yep, I spent four-hour exasperating work out sessions in the gym for 3 months (I can’t just sit on my ass and settle for an easier way to pump my excess fat outta my figure!). I was unstoppable then. Neither the wrath of my parents nor the fire-hose rain could put out my desire to slim down. So I pulled off all the kinks I could and not one shred of hope did I ever let go of. The jaunts had this cathartic effect on me…but NOT on my body. I saw no difference goddammit!!! And that’s where I zoned out. I stopped going to the gym and I led myself to one desperate act I never thought would occur to me: Starvation. I starved myself until I felt my stomach withering and my tonsils burning. But hey, I trimmed down (somehow) a couple of pounds. And that was the only time my head cleared out the clutter.

And then it hit me: I NEEDED TO FEED SOMEONE. Someone who was helpless and vulnerable and completely relying on me. And I knew I could not just leave her defenseless and have my vainness and denseness or whatever you call it get the better of me. I could not afford to put her health and life at risk only because of my “perfection and beauty rewarding pursuits.” You see, a baby can not even accumulate even a mint of vitamin and necessary minerals she needs from oatmeals and non-fat canned goods her mom feasts on! And I never intended to stop breastfeeding her for the sake of my superficial wants. That will be absurd! What’s my being a psycho (psychologist, that is) for if not to breastfeed Dylan, right? We’ve been taught (and reminded over and over again) how essential it is.

So, there. Just one snap, and there. My brain for once has helped, not hindered. I stopped reducing. I continued feasting on calories hour after hour. And I - began feeling like a real mom *sigh*…

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FOOTNOTE:

One thing Djai realized out of this: Perfection is much easier to strive for in theory than in practice. A Utopia body hardly exists.

And oh, Djai’s size-26, old pants can miraculously fit her now but with a slight notch: the zipper’s not in a heavenly condition. It always seems like it’s about to burst. But still, Djai’s grateful. At least her pants could pass up her enormous, puckered butt.

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