Don't Call Me Fat (COMPLETED)

It's All Bagok-ing Good

I have a journal that I keep. It's not Harriet the Spy or Burn Book level by any means, but it is my constant companion. I don't know the last time I have been anywhere without it. Lately it hasn't had my 'serious venting' thoughts in it; mostly just my calories and my meal plan sketched into the ledger around silly thoughts I have throughout classes. 

When I write at home, I only do it in my room, with the door closed and locked, with my music cranked. It's not that I'm embarrassed of my journal--no. It's just that it has some super personal thoughts in here that I don't want ANYONE to see.

I've kept a journal since second grade (it was a big year for me, very shaping), from the time that I read one of those early readers about a young girl traveling on the Oregon Trail. She had a paper bound book in which she documented her life, and I thought the idea fascinating. Why wouldn't I do that? Have a journal to follow my life and my personal ventures? Of course, my life hasn't been nearly as interesting as the Oregon Trail and camping outside endlessly for months, but an 8-year-old could imagine.

Over the years I've gone through around 22 journals, keeping the pace to about 2 a year, with the exceptions of 7th and 8th grade. I had a lot to say those two years. Middle school was the worst.

One time, I accidentally left one on the lunch table at school. It was 6th grade, I had written a love note to my crush Hunter Garrett, and was so caught up and mesmerized by his green eyes and freckles that I collected everything off the table--except for my journal. This awful, mean-spirited, snarky butt of a girl named Katelyn picked it off the table, and then proceeded to read my love note to the class.

If looks could kill:

1. I'd be dead. For sure. I thought the looks Hunter Garrett gave me were going to literally spear me to the ground. He had never talked to me before, and he hasn't talked to me since. Lesson learned.

2. Katelyn would be dead. I had never seriously contemplated murder until that point. I was so angry I forgot to be mortified for almost 10 whole seconds after she had finished.

3. Ava would be dead after yesterday. Her swooping in and then almost making me a pity fat-girl case in front of Michael...her life would have just ended. Right there. She'd be a pool of melted goo on the ground that I would have had to step around. I didn't speak to her the whole way home, because frankly, she deserved it. She couldn't seem to comprehend why I was so upset, and truthfully, how could she? She's NEVER been in my shoes before.

Currently I'm in my room with the music so loud my head starts spinning with the rhythm. Not really in the mood for rock, I had selected a complicated piece from Yo-Yo Ma's Classic collection. There is nothing like Bach to get your blood pumping in the afternoon. Those old ballet stretches were coming to mind. I went through the first six positions before giving up. There was no use, I couldn't concentrate. 

What I was trying to communicate through written word was how frustrated I felt. Never before in my life had I felt more alone than now. Desperate hunger constantly hung over me. I felt trapped eating certain foods, scared that I'd mess something up on my weight loss journey. Since I was trapped, I was hungry. Since I was hungry, I was foggy, because everything else dimmed in comparison to how my stomach felt. Ugh, and then, since I was foggy, I couldn't seem to write a solitary word onto the blank pages in front of me. Nothing felt right, or correct, or whatever.

I walked around my bed a few times. My bedroom was my favorite part of our whole house. While I didn't consider myself a typical romantic, or girly-type female, you wouldn't be able to discern that from my décor. My walls were this beautiful rose and gold wallpaper that my mother had picked out, that I had surprisingly liked. It has a light brocade with the faintest amount of floral design going through it. On afternoons like this, when the sun was lazily warming my room through my French windows, the whole space had a cozy feeling, like the rose hue of the wall was ready and waiting to wrap you in a hug.

Our whole house had either hardwood or marble flooring, and my room was lucky enough to have hardwood, accentuated by this feather-like, fluffy rug under my bed. It had always made me think of a cloud, like while my bed and it's 4 posts were enormous, on top of this white, puffy rug, it looked light, airy, and almost like I was flying through Belle's enchanted castle. 

Hmm, if only I were Belle with a magic wardrobe to give me a makeover.

Wandering through my room aimlessly, I stopped at the window, wondering if today would be a good day to step out and sit in my swing chair, and let the not-too-crisp air cover my body. My room was on the back of the house, so stepping out onto the window's balcony always provided this sense of absolute privacy when I needed it. If I wanted mental clarity, now would be the time to try to find it. Ava would be coming to get me soon for our evening workout. 

Really, I was working out, and was Ava barking directions at me. I didn't mind. She had already done her fair share of physical exercise at Cheer and Tumbling practice.

Deciding against the balcony swing, I moved to my desk. My journal laid there, open-faced, with my favorite pen ready for me to jot down my brain jumbles. I took a seat, waiting for the right words to come. Sentences weren't forming. But certain words and images kept floating to the forefront of my mind: Fat, Unhappy, Scared, Sad, Lonely, Michael, Project, Mom, Hungry, and Carbs. 

Those were the prominent ideas. I couldn't talk to Mom, because like Ava, she didn't know how I felt. She always tried to approach me with empathy, she had explained before, but never could relate personally. What good would a list like this do? She wouldn't understand.

And talking to my Dad was impossible right now, since he was traveling--again--this month. We had got to video conference him once about a week ago, but he was in China, and his schedule was tight with all the meetings he was attending, and all his crazy obligations, and the time difference, so we all basically got to say, "Hello," and, "We love you," before the call was over.

Uncertain, I suppose, would be my word for the day. I take my pen and hand, and write it down. Self reflection of the past couple weeks was hard. Pouring my soul into the pages that were anxiously awaiting to hear my mishaps and triumphs, I told them everything I could think of. I didn't mince words when it came to where my starting weight was. When Ava had made me stand on the scale almost 3 weeks ago, I could have cried at the number I saw. It said 270.1 on the LED screen display. I am tall, so I wear most of it...well...but the number still hurt. I couldn't live in denial anymore. And with the eating plans and the workouts, life had turned up and over.

Adding my good news as a silver lining, I confessed that with the cut back on calories, and the fervent physical exercise experiences I was having, I had already shed about 15lbs. Honestly, you couldn't tell yet that anything was missing from the mirror's perspective. But, it's a great feeling to see the number shrink, even though your goal may still seems so incredibly far away.

I kept asking myself why I was going through this. Is it because I do indeed want to be happy with my health? Or is it because I'm tired of fighting the constant feelings of negativity? Pondering all the possible outcomes coming down the pike for me, I scratch a couple more sentences onto the page before hearing Ava barreling through the hallway, screaming my name like a drill sergeant. My lips curl upward, because without a doubt, no one like Ava lives in this world.

Leaving my room, but taking my worries with me, I go out to greet her in my yoga's and running shoes, ready for another training session. Life might not be perfect right now, but hopefully all this work is moving me to the brink of a new life, waiting to domino into effect after I hurl myself into the abyss.

                                                                    *****************************

Chicken, chicken, chicken, chicken, chicken, chicken. That's all I ever freaking ate. You would think, JUST FOR FUN, we would throw in some fish or like, a turkey burger every once in a while. 

BUT NO, all I EVER ATE was freaking chicken.

I was making my way to the cafeteria in a huff, fuming to myself, loathing the fact that I had indeed ANOTHER piece of plain breast in my plastic container. I mean, I'm literally going to turn into a huge 'bagok-ing' monster by the end of this. You might as well start calling me Foghorn Leghorn.

Completely wrapped into my own thoughts, I didn't notice the mountain standing in front of me in the hallway. My face smacked into a pretty good sized boulder, which in turn happened to be revealed as Michael's shoulder. I pulled back instantly, waiting for him to notice that the way I hit into his solid body was slightly reminiscent of the way linebackers drive holes the size of Mac trucks on football fields.

His startled expression melted into humor instantly when he saw who was doing the pile drive into his mammoth back. Have I mentioned how broad his shoulders are? I mean, DANG, you could build a house on them. 

He turned his whole body to face me, the grin staying in place the entire time he held eye contact with me. "Well, Miss Ophelia, imagine running into you here." His words drawled, slurring them together in the most charming fashion. I tried to stop the shudder that was running electric down my spine before he noticed. He caught it, of course, but chose to ignore it, like a gentleman, thank God. Can you help it with a velvety voice like that? The tone was deep and rich, with just enough Matthew McConaughey rasp to keep you on your toes.

"I've actually needed to text you about an update on our schedule. I saw Ava, but she forgot to give me your number, so I figured I'd track you down and get it from you myself." Whipping out his phone, I saw him pull up the dial screen, ready to punch my numbers in.

I couldn't help myself, I tenuously scanned my surroundings to see how many people were noticing that Michael Morgan was indeed getting my number. 

In the hallway. 

In front of people. 

No shame on his part. My breathing was slightly shallow with the weight of this incredible gift that was being handed to me. In the back of my mind, I knew this was going to put me on the Bethany radar for sure, but I didn't care. Michael Morgan was paying attention to me right now, and I wanted to soak up every great moment of it. But that's the thing about being me, I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the moment to be sabotaged.

It was then that I noticed him watching me, as if intent on reading the inner workings of my mind. I hadn't been exactly masking my facial expressions, but I know that overall, I'm a guarded person at school, so there's no telling what kind of scowl I have subconsciously donned standing in front of him, as the shock of his handsomeness wears off. I was supposed to be enjoying this moment, not secretly calculating what whispers I'm going to hear about myself in the locker room later.

"Ophelia? Are you OK? I've asked you like 5 times for your number." His brow was knit together, his lips had slightly pulled down at the sides. Slightly shocked that I had managed to miss his question, I gingerly took the phone out of his hands, and typed in what information he needed. I looked up at him, business style side-stepping the inquiry, and simply asked him, "Do you need me to save it under Ophelia, or do you think you can spell it correctly?" I teased, knowing that he could indeed spell my name.

He grinned, slipping the phone back into his pocket after swiping the screen. "Cool. All right, well, I'm ready to eat. Are you headed to the tables now?" He starts walking, positioning himself to continue talking to me. I matched his stride, answering him, "Yeah, my friends Codie and Mags and I always sit together."

He nodded, tipping his head towards me. "Do you mind if I join you today? Usually I sit with some of the guys from the team, but they're doing something right now. Is that cool?"

I worked on wiping the surprise from my countenance. This was a little too much. He didn't have to throw me a pity sit. But at the same time... I really wouldn't be mad at him choosing to sit at my table. With me. With my friends. "I mean, yeah, that's--totally cool."

Codie and Mags were going to spit their food out. 

I could see Mags now, her jaw slightly slack as she observed us walking to our table together. This was going to be fun and awkward. Totally. 

Awkward.

"What are you eating today? I don't even know what's in this bag. My mom has this cook that's supposed to prepare us the best, but most of what I've eaten is more than questionable." He opened the sack to prove his problem. It did look kind of weird and orange. Like goop with a small sprig of garnish on the top.

Contemplating the possibilities of his bag content, I verbally pondered, "Maybe it's a type of risotto? Like, sweet potato of pumpkin?"

He shrugged noncommittally, tucking it under his arm. "You know, I may just go hit up line. I'll be back in a minute." He veered off, heading to the back of the café line, willing to eat mystery meat over the mystery meal his mother's cook prepared.

I reached our table and sat, facing Mags, sitting beside Codie. I prepped my place quickly, their questions erupting as soon as my butt hit the seat. "So, what was that? Project talk? He was talking with you and then darted off, is he coming back?"

"Yes, he's coming over here to sit with us. He said the guys he normally sits with are doing something, so he asked if it was cool. I said it was fine. Is it fine?" I looked between them, totally expecting them to be on board with Michael chilling with us lunch hour. Codie moved her head up and down, "Absolutely, yes. I would love it if he sat here. With you." She smiled a huge smile, her eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Codie, no crazy stories, OK? Nothing too embarrassing. Let's act cool!" I begged. 

"Oh, Opie, you're too uptight. We'll be on mostly good behavior," Mags quipped, sipping her water with a mischievous glint to her eye.

I groaned. He was walking towards us with his tray. "Ya'll. Be nice." That's all I got out before he slipped in the seat next to Mags.

"Hey, guys. I don't think we've officially met. I'm Michael..." he took his time introducing himself to Mags and Codie. They obviously knew who he was, but there's nothing more attractive than a man with nice manners. They reciprocated, letting niceties start casual chatter between our group. Michael reached for his phone in his pocket, moving his thumb across the screen. I watched his movements carefully, trying to not be too obvious.

I heard the *ping* notification bell on my phone. I inspected my screen, my eyes rounding when I see who the message is from. Oof, I needed to save his number in my phone I guess.

Unknown: I like your friends, they are nice. 

The *ping* sounded off again. 

Unknown: Not as cool as you, but that's OK. 

My face lit on fire.

Was Michael Morgan flirting with me??