Being the "fat guy" - A heavy subject indeed!

I've been ruminating over writing a new blog post for some time now. Life has been completely insane, on all fronts. My writing career is and will always be a work in progress, but since signing a five project deal with Permuted Press, being invited to craft a groovy, dark short story for Jonathan Maberry's V-Wars anthology's fifth volume, and working on my hybrid publishing stuff, 2014 has been NVTS....NUTS!

And, let's add the fact that Shelly and I are remodeling big parts of Casa Erb and that's has been over a month so far, with mucho more to go before we finish.

So yeah, the Erbman's life has been a bit crazy. But, I look at that as a good thing.

See, I've already rambled, but hey, the train is back on the Erbal track.

Blog posts and what the hell am I going to write about? Well, a couple of things have happened recently (and some, not so recently.) that have struck a deep chord within me and have pushed me to write a little bit something about it.

There have been a few deaths that have moved me and caused great waves in my soul and caused me to pause and really look at life.

Pardon the pun, but, the Elephant in the Room that I'll be penning about tonight is, me being the life-long fat guy. Whoa, I know...it's a shocker. But, there it is.

With all of the bullying things being posted, written, argued about over the past few years, I couldn't help but have thoughts on the subject. And of course it does tie in with being overweight, fat, chubby, gravity-challenged, husky, whatever descriptor you prefer.

Now kids, I want to warn you, this might get serious, deep and a tad bit personal. I know I am a carefree, good dude, who loves everyone and would do just about anything for you. BUT...there is another side. You've been warned.

I just turned 47 a couple of weeks ago. I wasn't as freaked out as much as I thought I would be, but still a little flustered. Damn, I still (for the most part, more on this later) like I'm in my twenties.

Writing this, I'm not really sure what I want, or need to say. It's funny, because even at 47, and staring down the business-end of fifty, I still have this small, insidious knot in my gut and whispering asshole in my mind that make me, at times, feel like I'm still in junior high, walking down the hall and being laughed at and called some not-so-fun names. All of which, of course, are fat kid related.

I need to say something, straight away. If you're not, nor have ever been an overweight person, especially a kid, there is an overwhelming and damaging mind-set that overtakes you. It's the fat-kid conditioned response, as I call it.

My therapist later called it “Negative Self-talk”. And let me tell ya, it's a bitch.

Having been overweight most of my life, I've learned how to deal with all of that. Some techniques healthy and productive, others, well, let's say, not so much.

I went through a phase where I hated every single moron that called me “fat ass, tub a lard, pig, Orca, lazy bitch,etc. And if you've read some of my fiction, you'd say that I was still working those demons out.

But now, I think I've realized were all just hormone-zombies and had no damn idea what we were saying or doing. Now, does that change the fact that some damage was done? Oh hell no.

Now let me touch on some of those quasi-permanent damages. And this is where I am probably opening myself up more than I ever have.

I alluded to the hateful self talk. That still lingers and I fight with it every day. When you are made to feel like you are lesser, different and useless from kindergarten on, yeah, that tends to leave some deep and painful scars. Like Pavlov's dog, albeit a really fat one, (see? There's the self-deprecating defensive humor.)

It's truly insidious, because it permeates every part of you. It attacks your self-confidence, self-worth, and you doubt any and everything about yourself. I know, I know, many of you macho-tough guys may read this and say, “Ah, buck up, you Pansie. It's all part of growing up. I got called names and I'm just fine.”

My response to you, good for you. I am NOT you. We are all different and have experienced far different childhoods and experiences. I'm happy you've turned out fine. (although, I truly doubt you are completely unscathed.)

I've had many hours of therapy, and it's been amazingly helpful. On top of being a fat dude, I was blessed with the great gift of depression. I was initially diagnosed years ago as Manic Depressive. While my best friend and lovely wife, Shelly, both agree that I was miss-diagnosed, I still suffer from bi-polar disorder without all the uber, get rich quick highs and lows of manic depression.

I've been on numerous medications and found most of them left me more of a life-less zombie than the grand ol' Tom that I truly am. Effexor, Lithium, etc. I took myself of medication easily over ten, twelve years ago. I, (personally) don't them.) or, my illness is better served by not being drowned out by the heavy meds. It's worked for me thus far, and I hope it continues to do so.

I know I am all over the place with this post but I'm trying to make it as cohesive has possible.

On being a fat kid:

I had a close group of friends that didn't change too much from elementary to high school. Birds of a feather, I suppose. While I don't hate my school years as much as some of my pals, I do have some bleak ghost that have haunted me since those days of Marion. It seems that I've made a better peace than others and I've forgiven most of those jerks. It does no one any good to hold onto such negative feelings. Nothing good at all.

I will tell you that it does affect my behavior. Even after all these years, when I walk into a room, a store, etc, if I see people laughing, looking at me, I automatically think they are making fun of my weight and taking all kinds of hateful words.

Now, my logical brain says, “hey, slow down, man. Why would they be talking about you?”

But the conditioned fat guy, automatically tugs down on his overly tight t-shirt and averts his eyes and walks on. Allowing a dark cloud to rule over the rest of his day.

See what I am saying? I've worked and will always continue to work against those old ghost that have crafted deep grooves into my already fragile psyche. It's powerful stuff, my friends. It truly is.

I could write a completely different blog on my thought on fat guys and women and all that shite, but you know, it's not worth it. After all, as far as my life goes, I've won the Cupid Lottery. I have the best, most kick ass wife on the damned planet. So... moving on.

I'm only going to touch on the topic of fat guy health issues briefly. For one, we are more than aware of the health risks of being overweight. I won't beat a dead horse here.

All I will say, is that overall, I've been pretty healthy most of my life, even for a big guy. I've had leg/vein issues since I was in high school and have had some more serious treatments in the past few years, including surgeries and such. But I keep fighting the good fight with that.

I must say now, that there have been a few incredibly positive things that have come out of me being the fat guy.

I'm sure with the amazing genetic history that my O'Brien/Erb fore-bearers blessed me with (sans the whole depression thing.) is who I am.

I had a fantastic basic palette of colors to start with. And when mixed with all the hues of childhood- the scars, the good stuff, etc. Every single happy and pain filled moment molded me into the man I am today. Flaws, and all.

Every deeply painful incident in school where I was made fun off in front of a gazillion classmates, to the friendships I have to this very day.

My sense of humor...my sense of compassion and understanding for others. ( I know many folks would consider that a weakness.) And, some of the trusting, compassionate behavior has led to friends using, or taking advantage of me. I guess it is what it is.

Yeah, some parts of growing up the fat guy sucked six ways from Sunday. But, hey, isn't it the constant wash of the water that crafts the amazing detail and beauty of the rocks?

And there are some health issues I am addressing and working on changing many of my bad habits and working on getting back into the martial arts and improve my life on all accounts. 

I'm not going to lie, even at forty-seven, I still cringe a bit when I walk into a place and folks are laughing and still deal with negative self-talk. And hey, that's why I chose to be a creative. It's not like we need a thick skin against judgement or rejection...Right? What? Oh......Shit.

I guess, Alice raised a son a glutton for punishment. That's okay. Bring it.

She also raised a son that will proudly march to his own drummer...no matter how measured or how far away.

I'm sorry if this was incredibly disjointed, I just wanted to get my thoughts down without too much self-censorship. I hope it made some sense to you all.

Bottom line: Be kind. Everyone comes into life with their own demons. Be compassionate or at the very least...do no harm.