This is going to be a rant. My anxiety and depression are flaring up like hemorrhoids and I have no other outlet, so I am spewing all my irritation and melancholy out and setting it free in the interwebs, where it will echo hollowly because no one gives a flying fluffernutter about my first world problems.
I need a social media holiday. I’ve gotten to a point where my precious little snowflake self feels sad when tweets, blogs, and comments get no responses. I mean, really. It’s embarrassing. I have started to think too much about “followers” and “likes” and wishing I was one of the cool young blogger kids. (Hey, all you young folks are awesome. I’m the idiot with issues, not you!) But, I can’t keep up. I simply don’t have the time or energy or “know-how.” This elusive know-how… how to get all the followers, get all the likes. The stupid popularity contest.
I’ve been thinking of jumping into the vlogging game. But why bother. There literally would be no purpose unless I simply want to watch my own vlogs. No one wants to watch a middle-aged fat chick talk about young adult fantasy books. They want to watch actual Young Adults talking about young adult fantasy books. And who can blame them? Not me! Unless I can make the Grumpy Fat Middle-Aged Lady a thing somehow. Hasn’t happened yet. Somehow, I don’t think there is a burgeoning market for that niche.
Time for a break:
I’m honestly not angry at anyone for being successful where I am not. It’s me with the issue. I just want to reiterate that. Being fat means losing out on a lot of opportunities, though. I could just lose weight, but if it were that easy, I would have never gotten fat in the first place. People say to me, “You’re not that fat.” Or “I don’t consider you obese or fat-fat.” (But technically I am, on the medical scale of things.) It means I have to be celibate and/or asexual and very self-deprecating. I don’t date. I don’t want to, but even if I did. I couldn’t become a singer and actress like I always dreamed. Yes, you could list the few people who have been successful and overweight here, but they have what I don’t: determination, assertiveness, thick skin, and probably some kind of support system.
Also, depression and anxiety have ensured I exist in a constant state of a half-life, never reaching my potential, never being able to be my true self. I play it safe or simply don’t try at all because I will be rejected and then I will have lost my precarious control over the situation and be humiliated. Play it safe so I can save face. Makes no sense, but there it is.
So I’m invisible. Everyone sees through me. Men see me and look right away, dismissing because what purpose do I serve in the scheme of things? I’m not hot or powerful. I’m middle-aged with a body that has not been taken care of. I know this, I see this, and I don’t care. I must not care because I change nothing day after day.
I probably suffer from the same self-esteem issues even beautiful, successful women have. Just substitute fat for something else. I feel like the fat, middle-aged white woman belongs in a marginalized group. Yes, I am privileged, but I am still insignificant. Even other women judge me. Sometimes I get tired of being invisible. I just get tired. I’m so tired. I wish I could be living my best life. I read all the motivational tweets and I feel nothing. I don’t resonate with those 140 (or is it 280 now) characters that are supposed to make me more excited about facing this crappy day. I mean, I appreciate their choice to be positive. I wish I could be like that. I see them and their efforts. It’s important and necessary.
I’m a pessimist, and let’s face it, living in today’s world is freaking hard! It’s no wonder I have trouble adjusting. The political climate, the horrible things happening to kids, the way most of us are just existing and paying bills. I’m not made to be successful in this world. I’m made to be successful in a world of acceptance, one attuned to sensitive people, and not cruelty.
Anyway, I think I’m done ranting. I’m just so over it all right now. My usual baseline of anxiety and depression has been disrupted for whatever reason, and I needed to spew my petty issues out. I should go back in therapy. I have insurance, but I can’t afford to make the co-payments! It’s like another bill and who can afford another bill these days. Ironic, right… having insurance and still not being able to afford going to a doctor. That’s a whole other blog post.
To the one person who actually reads this, thank you. You saw me and in that moment, I was not invisible. Now, back to using my faulty superpower…