I remember the very first time I got on the plane to Missouri to see Dmitry, I was wrought with nerves, doubts, and excitement to finally meet the people who raised this absolutely wonderful man I get to share my life with. When the plane landed, I remember going into the bathroom, picking at every imperfection; moving my hair the other way, retracing my eyeliner, putting a refresher coat of mascara back on. I put on some more lip balm, pulled my skirt down, fixed my coat…I don’t know, I just know I couldn’t stop until I finally just said a mental “fuck it” and left. At this time in my life, I couldn’t do with having too many negative thoughts. I was just learning to keep my eating disorder at bay, and doing a fine job of it too. I had gained to about 165 lbs, a healthy weight for my body and I, surprisingly, didn’t feel too bad about it. I was learning to accept myself, be a bit more lenient toward myself, and maybe someday I would actually like myself.
Dmitry and his father were driving to pick me up, and waiting was probably the worst thing ever. Finally, I got the call that they had arrived, and walked out the automatic doors with my suitcase, toward the silver four-seater. I could vaguely see his dad inside when Dmitry got out to greet me and help me with my bags. I knew he was looking at me but I didn’t think he really cared; it was dark, he probably couldn’t see me well. I got into the car and we started the long, awkward journey to the hotel where I would stay. They spoke Russian to eachother, his dad said no more than a quick “hello” to me, and Dmitry didn’t speak to me either. I guess it was rude or something.
The next day at the hotel I, being obsessive about such things, decided (regretfully) to ask Dmitry what his dad thought of me. What he said replays in my head every single day, and I don’t think it will ever go away. Because of this, I remember the moment I walked out to the car as an out of body experience, scrutinizing every detail of what I must have looked like to someone else, shaming, hating everything about myself that day. His father thought I was “pudgy for my age” and that “when I turn 30 I will be obese and have a mustache”. He then went on to yell “ugly woman!” (in Russian) into Dmitry’s room before he went to bed that night. I cried for a long time after he left. The next day, I had to eat Chinese food with them for dinner. I just picked at it. After all the months of progress I had made with my eating issues, I had thrown it away for a few negative comments.
I do not want to go back. Knowing that, since then, I haven’t made any significant progress on my weight. I don’t want him to look at me and say I”m pudgy. I don’t want that to be the first thing that comes to mind when people look at me. Pudgy and black. Okay. Cute combination, really. If I lose 5 more lbs before the 9th I might feel okay about going because that will be a total loss of 20 lbs from the time he called me pudgy. Though, you can’t really see 20 lbs on me because I’m morbidly obese. I don’t know. I want to see my boyfriend I just don’t want to ruin my mind any further right now.