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We started dating almost immediately, and became inseparable.
When I described him to people, I would tend to use celebrities who I was currently in love with as a frame of reference:"He's exactly like a dark-haired Ben Folds, but younger, and with better skin.""He looks just like an American version of John Oliver, but with better teeth, and a more attractive nose.""Brian looks like Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters," I said once during a Halloween party, apropos of absolutely nothing.
It was just a result of being in a happy relationship, suddenly having a full-time job, and life getting in the way. Six months into our relationship, I found myself in a very desperate laundry situation. Late in the evening, Brian turned to a mutual friend of ours, and eagerly, drunkenly opined: "Doesn't Kristin look amazing in that dress? Was I doomed to either be conventionally attractive or someone's fetish object? He has limits, he's human, and more important, he's a human who loves me and finds me attractive, and is frustrated with having to defend those choices to me, of all people. "One of the things I've come to understand is that, when you're single, hating your body is more or less a victimless crime, if you don't count yourself.
I put on a sundress that I thought might be a little too backless for my current weight. "The silence that followed felt like the moment before someone hits the button on a dunk tank, and you know that you are about to tumble, helpless, into a frosty tub of punishment. Once, we were at a bar, and I saw a very large woman sitting at the edge of the bar. " I asked Brian, in a way that clearly indicated she was not. When you get into a relationship, however, it becomes a constant referendum on the tastes and judgment of the person who loves you.
For the first time since I had started dating Brian, I looked at myself and realized that my body, almost without my realizing it, was reverting to back to its former fat state. I would push and pull the rolls of fat on my stomach with my hands as flat as I could, and try to imagine what my lower half would look like, unencumbered by what I had done to it. Once at a party, he mentioned that Rebel Wilson was hot to a group of people we were talking to. But one morning, I saw him looking at himself in the mirror, grabbing the small pudge from his stomach, and agonizing about how much he felt it made him into a terrible person. Because it so obviously was — he was trying to grab handfuls of his tummy for emphasis, but was struggling to even get one hand full.
I'd meet every compliment Brian gave me with something equally cruel about myself. A short silence followed, during which I actually moonwalked away from the conversation, as though trying to physically escape before a comparison between Rebel Wilson and myself could catch up to me. "No, it isn't," he shot back, in that angry, desperate tone of voice I have so often used.
Most of my life, my weight has felt like a search light from above that continually hounds me, putting the spotlight on my body even when I just want to hide.
As a fat woman, I have been taught that there is an order of operations for love: First, you get thin; then, you can date who you want."But, like, even better looking."It was during this time that I started slowly putting the weight back on.Not because Brian was doing anything to sabotage me — he was and is supportive of my wanting to eat well and exercise.Brian was still attracted to fat girls, and I was one of them.This, of course, did not take away from how into Brian I was.