The skinny on a lightweight problem
All of a sudden, Dr. Phil is on this crusade to keep America obesity-free. He wants the country to get off their fat asses and drop a couple of pounds, for chrissake. I can understand why. We are the most powerful, wealthiest nation in the world, yet we have the most overweight people with the unhealthiest eating habits. We can't have that happening, now, can we? We've got an image to uphold. I think it's a government plot to create more soldiers. But I digress.

Doesn't it just seem natural? Didn't our parents want us to have everything they didn't have? They didn't want us to suffer as much as they did, and they didn't want us to starve. So, what's the problem? Success means not having to suffer the indignity of unneccesary physical labor and never having to worry about where the next meal is coming from. Americans just take it to the extreme.

But I'm not going to write about the overweight problem. I'm going to write about my weight problem. Yes, I have a weight problem, but it's not viewed as a problem by the rest of the country. I have a hard time maintaining my weight just like anyone else does, but in the opposite direction. I have trouble keeping my weight up.

Now, people always say "I wish I had your problem." I get very offended when I hear that, and I'm not fucking around here. A weight problem is a weight problem, regardless of which way the scales go. My story reads like an overwieght person's problem, but instead of the word "fat," replace it with the word "skinny." Everything else is the same. I had the nagging relatives, friends who poked fun, and the terrible self-image that goes along with a weight problem.

It started with my mom. She would look at me and berate me for being so thin. "You're not eating enough," she'd yell. "Are you anorexic?" "Look at you, you're wasting away."

And I would hear it from other relatives. "Oh, my God, you're too skinny" would be the FIRST thing I'd hear at family gatherings. And they would say it with such horror in their voices that I felt like I'd done something wrong. "You're losing weight!" "Oh, my God, you're skinnier than before!"

Then the comparisons. "Look at your brother. He looks normal. But you...why aren't you eating?" They'd compare me to cousins, and other people my age. "Look at him. He's not skinny. You should be like that."

I couldn't explain it. I eat, yes I eat. I eat when I'm hungry, and I stop when I'm not. Maybe I have a fast metabolism. Maybe I have a small stomach. But it was impossible for me to eat the way everyone else did.

"Finish everything on your plate."
"I'm full."
"Come on, you have to eat everything."
"I can't."
"Look at your cousin. His plate is empty. Your plate should be empty too."
Like there was something wrong with me.

My stomach was full. I wasn't hungry anymore. I was stuffed. Yet saying I was full, or I couldn't eat any more was not believable to them. Somehow I was lying, or being stubborn.

It came to the point where I feared going to family gatherings because the issue of my weight would come up. I would try to make my way to other rooms or out of sight, or hold a plate of food so no one would bother me about eating. My mother was convinced I was anorexic. How's that for fun? I'm a teenager, I'm struggling at school, I just want to go home to relax, but my mom thinks I have a psychological disorder.

As I got older, I would just lie.
"You're so skinny. I think you've lost weight."
"That's impossible because I've gained five pounds since you last saw me."

That would shut them up.

But the worst thing about it wasn't what they said, but how I felt. I thought I was ugly, like those pictures of Civil War soldiers, bony, almost skeletal. That's how I saw myself. I was some strange caricature with a huge head, big glasses, braces, and a lollypop stick body. "So that's why I'm not popular. That's why I can't get a date." And the comments from family never helped. The worst thing you can do to an awkward teenager is point out how awkward they look.

So you go around thinking that you are not right. I tried working out, weight gain powders, eating calorie-laden food, hoping my body would change into something acceptable. But it didn’t matter, because I didn’t feel acceptable, no matter how hard I tried. And I tried. I was lifting more weight, I was punching and kicking the bag harder, I could do more sit-ups, but I still felt like a tiny, invisible person, never looking the way I was supposed to.

It took me many years of really looking at myself and at the scale to realize that I really wasn’t as bad off as I thought I was. It took me a long time to convince myself that, as far as height and weight proportions, I’m really not that much underweight. I’m not the average weight for my height, but I’m not grossly underweight, that’s for sure. I do eat. It’s not like I’m refusing to eat meals or puking in the bathroom.

Every once in a while, though, the old feeling comes back. Sometimes I freak out when my pants feel loose. I mean, REALLY freak out, like "holy shit, something's wrong, something's wrong, somethings wrong" freak out. But I know I'll eventually gain it back if I just eat right.

But what really pisses me off is when I try to buy new clothes. I went to Old Navy to buy jeans once, and I asked for a 28” waist. They said they stopped making that size. “Maybe online, but we don’t carry them in the stores.” And it’s not just Old Navy. Levi’s, Banana Republic, all of them stopped making my waist size. So, for a moment I'm pissed off at the world. Fuck you, I like my skinny ass, now make me a pair of jeans that fit!

Why does it have to be that way? When I went to Singapore, I was at least a medium to large! Here in America, I couldn't fit into a large unless it was a children's large! But I have to remember: this is America, success equals bigger.

My name is Kennedy. I lose weight really fast.

No, you don't want my problem.