I’ve got Kotter beat.

Welcome back, indeed.

Highlights of being in my parents’ home once again.

+My father telling me that I’m killing my mother by not getting liposuction.
+My father telling me that I’m killing him by being the most stubborn person he’s ever met (and not getting liposuction)
+Seriously, the pool is about 90 degrees. It’s too hot to go swimming. Gross.
+My mom paying for haircut (hooray, haircut!).
+Talking with Stefan (I love Stefan) on the phone.
+Being in my childhood home. Still feeling like a child.

I know I’m down on my parents a lot on the LJ. I always point out the awful things that they say to me. But I know they are very well intentioned. It’s very difficult for them that I’m overweight. Even if it’s just 25 pounds. To them, it’s like I’m suicidal or something. They are offering to pay for the lipo, and some awesome Colombian doctor who works on supermodels and beauty queens will do it. My grandmother agrees with this and so do all my uncles. Every one is trying to reason with me and explain that it’s the easiest way. “You used to be so skinny, you were always so skinny.” And then I went off to college and gained 40 pounds. I get it. They mean really well. And I haven’t been successful at taking off the weight so they are offering me an easy out. And maybe I’m stupid for not taking it. And maybe I am breaking my mother’s heart. It’s just… so against who I am.

I understand my mother. She’s nicer about it and she’s legitimately concerned. Enough people have died of awful weight-related diseases that it makes sense. It’s my dad really that’s awful. The emotional abuse gets to be too much. “Fat” used to be “theater” used to be “quitting engineering” used to be “dating Piero” used to be “dating Dave” used to be “dating Pete” used to be “going to college” used to be “unathletic” used to be “just plain stubborn.” And I get it. I’m his little girl. He wants control. It’s how he loves. I just don’t do well when he calls me a cunt and tells me that I’m killing him and that he would rather be dead than see me my life this way. My mother says “that’s how he is, he doesn’t know how to be nice to people. Take it with a grain of salt.” And I try. Lord, I’ve tried. But I’m sensitive. I cry. He accuses me of “theatrics.” So I took to crying where he couldn’t see me.

There was a moment today when I sat down in my closet and had a good cry. A long good cry. And I thought to myself about how when I was sixteen and seventeen years old, I counted down the days to leaving. I promised myself that I would never end up crying in this closet again. And eight-nine years later, here I am, crying. I hate myserf for this. And if I thought that losing 25 pounds would fix this, I suppose I would lose them. But it won’t. Not if I do it their way. And I know it’s not that much. I know there are people that are hundreds of pounds overweight. I shouldn’t complain about twenty-five pounds. But the truth of the matter is that to the people that matter most in my life, I am a heinous beast.

I believe my father’s words were “there is nothing more difficult than looking at your child and seeing failure.” I point out to him that I’m not. I’m successful in so many other ways. And he says, “yes, I’m proud of you. You’ve accomplished so much. But you can’t even take the time to fix your hair or wear makeup. You don’t get manicures and you think of your body as a vessel for your brain. And that is a completely different kind of failure. That’s failing yourself over and over again every day.”

I dream sometimes of cutting off my arms.
At this moment, I am simply wishing my father blind.

He says that when he dies, it’ll be my fault. I kill him with my tenacity. He’s funny like that. One time I screamed at him, “so die then.” And that night he had a heart-attack. On the way to the hospital he looked at me and said “this is your fault.” A double bipass later, he lived. And the bastard never apologized. He never does. I always do. I always do. Always. Well, not anymore. Not unless I’m sorry. And I’m not. I forget to put on nail polish. True. I don’t have the best eating habits. True. But I’m certainly not trying to kill him by clinging to what little dignity I have left some days.

“You have such a beautiful face. It’s just hard to tell with all that fat ruining it.”
He threatened to beat me today. And I took it so calmly. “What are you hoping to accomplish?” And he said that sometimes you need to beat your children to teach them how to respect their elders.

I believe now is the time when I roll a joint and smoke one in the closet. Then it’s off for a swim.
It’ll be like a public bath. How exciting is that?