"Too Fat"

Ron's talked about this in public, to other people, so I don't see any violation of boundaries.

He told me, in all seriousness today, he thought I should weigh 120 pounds.  He means it. 

He told me he doesn't find me attractive at this weight, I need to lose weight.  Ron, I told him, you didn't find me attractive when I weighed 60 pounds less than I do now. 

Let me find an example.  Waiting for that to load.  There it is, to the left.  I think I have a nice figure and a pretty flat stomach, in the photo.  I am healthy and I like my face. 

At any rate, everyone else, and complete strangers, said I looked "good". 

This is "too fat, needs to lose 50 pounds" according to Ron, today. 

I think anyone can say, that's a pretty healthy body. 

What makes this painful for me, and Ron knows this - I had severe body issues as a teen.  I was diagnosed as anorexic.  I saw myself as "fat" and tried to get under 100 pounds.  I am 67 inches tall - 5 foot 7.  At minimum, I have heard I need to be at least 140. 

He said I looked fine until I moved in with him. Then I was too flat and maybe we could get plastic surgery to pump me up.  I was also "too bony" at about 140 pounds. 

See the hypocrisy?  He's already told me he doesn't like me at 140, yet he wants me to weigh 20 pounds less?   

So, I gained weight.  My figure filled out a little, and for one moment in time Ron might have been happy.  But Mr Fast Food for dinner, let's buy some chips, I want ice cream, I hate to walk... we both gained weight. 

I NEVER complained about his weight gain.  I complained it was hard to find 40 inch waist, 28 inseam pants (at least back then it was hard), but I never complained about his weight or appearance.  I did object when he shaved off his moustache, I thought it looked ghastly.  He grew it back.  He was working full time and didn't exercise, other than walking a few blocks to the commuter train station every day.

He, however, complained bitterly about my weight and constantly belittled my food choices.  He would take me out to dinner at Burger King.  Then, after I had begun eating, he would complain about my food choices, the whole time he's shoveling back half the fries, with his gut straining at his pants. 

He would tell me exercise didn't work, don't bother.  I ate a lot of processed low fat foods, sadly thinking they would "help".  I didn't understand carbohydrates. 

When we came to Texas, I was about a size 18.  Running our own business made us both gain weight. Ron topped out at 230.  I went up a few more sizes. 

Ron was getting more and more vehement about my weight.  If I didn't lose weight, he threatened, he would start looking at other women - as in "leaving me for another woman". 

Desperate to please him (this is before I grew a backbone) I did everything I could.  I found that exercising about an hour a day, and eating very little protein, helped a little, but I became anemic.  I added some weights to my routine.  I was burning more calories but stuck at the same weight. 

Ron kept telling me I had better lose weight, or else.  "I don't want to live with my mother" he told me "She was always overweight and I won't live with a fat woman." 

At one point, I bitterly wondered when he would leave, I was so miserable.  I hoped he would leave me because of my weight - my life was hell.  I was working myself to death, no appreciation, working for $8 an hour doing a $20 an hour job, working as his accountant, assistant manager, deli manager, cook, you name it.  I helped supervise the employees, pointing out when one was wearing profane t-shirts to work, and another refused to wear hair nets. 

He "helped" by telling me stories of previous girlfriends and their weight loss, how one had lost a lot of weight by walking for hours every night, with his help.  He never did that with me.  When we went for an "exercise walk" he always complained his feet hurt, and I was going too fast.  She could lose the weight, why couldn't I?  She was also a perfect housekeeper and a better cook, all his customers said so. 

Times like this, even before I knew I was crazy, I just wanted to glue his tongue.  Shut up! 

Ron really believes in comparing me to other woman, judging me, and telling me I'm not up to his standards.  If I'm not up to his standards, I don't deserve affection - not even a hug.  Or, he will give me a hug and then make a big production - "Oh, it's so awful to touch you".  I can't think of the last time he has touched me without complaining about my weight. 

"[When you miss it enough] you will lose weight" he tells me. 

I'm sure some of you, and I do wonder this too, "Why did I ever marry him?"   I figured, after the accident, my overwhelming demonstration of love and devotion would sweep his judgements away.  He would realize what was important - a loyal, loving woman.   He would build me up instead of tearing me down. 

I was wrong. 

He doesn't realize what I have seen a long time ago: judging and rejecting me like this opens up a huge door to the other man.  You know, the one who loves me just the way I are (grin).  The one who would never dream of making a critical comment or comparing me to someone else.  The guy with a perfectly working body. 

I am very, very careful as a result. 

I told Ron some of this today: "Ron" I told him "Have I ever gotten on your back because your right arm doesn't work?  Have I ever once complained about pushing you in the wheelchair?  Have I ever once told you 'I wish you could see'"  [one time only he backed up the toilet and I told him "I wish you could clean this up"]

He indignantly replied he couldn't do anything about his physical problems.  Things were different. 

No, Ron, they're not.  I am taking near-toxic levels of a very potent drug (lithium).  It causes weight gain and water retention.  Horrendous fatigue, brain fog, lack of concentration.  Could cause coma and death.  I require a nap, and at least 10 hours of sleep every night. 

Let's talk about the haldol.  I love the stuff, it gets rid of the noise in my head.  Headaches, fatigue, dizziness.  Now, let's imagine I'm squatting under a barbell and I get a dizzy spell.  Ron can't spot.  That could get ugly.  I'm also at risk for seizure, cancer, and heart problems (and I have a family history).  Do I really want to take that for a run? 

It's antidepressant time.  Due to an SSRI allergy, I now take bupropion.  Heart trouble, seizure, weight gain, migraines, regular headaches, and falls.  I go through 100 count bottle of OTC headache tablets every few months. 

He doesn't get it - I seem fine.  He doesn't realize how much I pay to be "fine".  He doesn't want to hear it - he won't accept it if I try to tell him.  He just starts shouting at God. 

So, I'm stuck in a paradox.  I'm under a huge burden of fatigue, brain fog, et al from my medication.  I don't have the energy to work out or even eat unprocessed foods.  A lot of foods I used to eat (peanut butter, cheese, etc) now give me migraines.  I'm staggering around with a big load on my back. 

And there's Ron, throwing rocks at me, shouting at me for being fat and unattractive, telling me I have to conform to an ideal he would find repulsive.  It drives me nuts. 

Look at me: yes, I may be fat but it's clear I don't hate him:

 The picture was taken this week.  I have also maintained my current weight for over a year now.