Love

Love may be a many-splendored thing, but it is also the source of much pain. I know it has been for me. I am, for want of a better classification, "overweight". I have been so since I was about 10 years old. I am well acquainted with the feeling of being an outsider, a wallflower, big, ugly, and socially unacceptable. Strangely enough, I never became totally gargantuan until after I was in a long-term relationship and became pregnant. That's when I got to my highest weight. Before that, I saw myself as, and believe I was, big but not grotesque. There were men in my life, but all of them were short-term or one-night stands. They were such hypocrites. They were perfectly okay with having sex with my big body, but not being seen with it on a regular basis. Nevertheless, I kept getting involved with them. It was better than nothing. Finally, at the ripe old age of 22, I met my first and only long-term relationship. He became my husband. He was different right from the start. He wasn't ashamed to be seen with me, and he treated me well. So why did I not feel particularly enthused about him? Why wasn't he as intoxicating or as alluring to me as those assholes who only used me for their own sexual pleasure? Why did they always seem more desirable?

I can't tell you. I can't even tell myself.