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October 24, 2001
So, first entry. Hmm. Started my diet and exercise regime yesterday. My incentive? If I
do not do it this time, I think I will try and get the roux-en-y gastric bypass surgery done. Of course, being only
twenty years old, I really do not want that hideous scar that comes along with it, running from the navel to the lower
chest. Besides that, let's see. I was walking (or rolling in my wheelchair, I should say) in front of the
library, and there was a woman with her two or three year old daughter walking the other way on the sidewalk. As
they pass, the little girl starts pointing and yelling to her mother Gordito! Gordito! (i.e. Fat man! Fat man!).
The woman just kept walking, dragging the little girl along as if she wasn't saying anything, but it was plainly obvious.
It reminded me of the time I was at Ames, and an old lady came around the corner pushing her grandson, and he yelled
"There's a big fat guy!" She told him to keep quiet, but I couldn't stop laughing, maybe from awkwardness, but
who knows. I just said "That's okay," and continued on my way. Of course I could have died from embarrassment,
but that didn't show (I hope). Well, I suppose "From the mouths of babes..." Neither of those was half as
bad as the plane trip to Mexico. Of course I had to use the old belt extention, but that was not the worst part.
On the plane there was a family of two parents and their three children. Everything would have been fine except I had
been assigned to bolster head seating because I cannot walk except for a couple of steps. The problem with bolster
head seating is that the arms do not go up, and I could not access the hitch where the belt hitches. The only option
was to move me to another seat. Of course the plane was overbooked, so they asked the family to split up. After
a small argument with the father, they agreed to split. The attendants were gracious enough not to seat anyone next
to me either. A few minutes later, one of the attendants came back with some sort of refund for the family. I
have been emarrassed before, but I have never been so ashamed of my weight and body. I could cry now just thinking about
it. What a hideous person I must appear to be. I have now gotten so huge that I can only be weighed on the scale
in the maternity ward of the hospital, so being in Mexico right now, I have no idea how much I weigh. A few weeks before
I left the states, I was approximately 370 pounds. My God! I'm almost 400 pounds. Maybe this would not be
so significant if I were not only 5 foot 3 inches tall. It's such a weird thing to think that I've never even walked
up a flight of stairs before. What I wouldn't give just to be able to do that. I haven't been on a date since
I was with my last girlfriend almost three years ago. Not a real date, anyway. I go out as friends with some girls
I know and just let the guys believe what they will. I recently, again, made the mistake of actually believing that
a pretty girl could actually like me as boyfriend material. I must have a strong "tell me all of your problems" aura,
because every girl I have met in three years was only interested in my supposedly good advice. "Let's just be friends."
How many times will I be cursed to hear that sentence in my life? I've got enough friends! Every other girl I've
ever met! It's not like I don't have a lot going for me. I'm intelligent, very friendly, respectful to women,
speak two languages fluently and am proficient in two more, have a great singing voice, like to read and talk about intelligent
things, am extremely mature (mostly because of life circumstances), and yet I can't get one girl to even glance at me unless
it's with a horrified, shocking stare. I don't have any concept of what I really look like. All I have are flat
pictures of myself hidden behind objects or sitting in that damned wheelchair. I suppose I've avoided cameras for years
now. Any of the pictures I am in, I am three time as wide as anybody else in the photo. It's like that is not
even me. I certainly don't think I look like that. The weird thing about all of them is that the people I am with
all appear to be extremely happy. I am obviously faking every fat, double-chinned smile. Am I happy? That's
an interesting question. What is happiness, anyway? If it's a general feeling of contentment with one's life,
then I suppose I'm not. It's funny, I've spent so much of my life convincing every one else that I am truly happy that
I think I've fooled myself along with them. I would have to say that I am really more miserable than I have ever been
in my whole life. It just seems like there is no escape from this prison that I call my body. What other
disasters have I faced because of my condition? Well, I haven't walked in eight years; not really, anyway. (Damn,
eight years. I can't believe it's been that long.) My weight has made it incredibly difficult just to walk across
a room. Having weak knees from birth, the weight has made it nearly impossible. So last summer (2000) I went to
the county fair to see the Demolition Derby. The Grandstand is over a hundred years old, so of course has no place for
people in wheelchairs other than sitting right at the fence, which is prohibited. So I did it anyway. Everyone
does, it's just that they can move before the guards catch them, and nothing happens. Well, this big man of about
fifty years old (master of the Grandstand, or something) came over, grabbed the back of my chair, and pulled me back to the
underpass where patrons enter and I could not see anything. My dad, who was sitting in the stands with my brother and
two cousins, saw me there looking very pissed. He asked me what was wrong, and then realized that I was sitting way
back now with about ten people standing in front of me, and asked me why. I told him that the man put me there, so my
dad pushed me back up where I was. So the master guys came over and started arguing with my dad, increasing in anger
all the time. The man told my father that if he didn't calm down, that we would all have to leave. He went and
got the Sheriff (a woman who is hated by every person that knows her) and she said that we would have to leave. By now,
my brother and two cousins had joined the argument, and my dad was getting frustrated because he was losing. As all
of this was happening, the lady that was working in the ticket booth walked by and murmured to the master guy that "we shouldn't
let people like him in here" [meaning me]. Finally I got angry enough that I started yelling (which I might add, takes
a lot) about who I should sue for prejudice treatment, and whatnot. Just when it looked like we were about to be removed,
my brother shoved the officer. She got pissed and dared him to do it again, but my dad restrained him. Finally,
having had enough, I turned to the audience (which had started to notice the pursuing argument) and I yelled out "These people
are trying to throw me out of here because I am in a wheelchair! Will anybody please help us?!?" At first there
was just this awkward silence and nothing happened. Then I yelled it again with more emphasis and tears started rolling
down my cheeks as an old woman came down and hugged me. Then between eight and ten more people came down and started
arguing and yelling at the two who were there (master guy and old officer lady). Then the screams and yells from all
of the audience started. People started walking out (and the derby had only started a few minutes before). The
master guy realized that a riot was about to break out, and suddenly said "Okay. He can sit here." The older woman
who had hugged me asked if I was okay, and I said I was and thanked her. So when every one had gone back to their seats,
I turned around and put on the brakes of my wheelchair in triumph. All of a sudden the audience burst into applause.
I just sat looking forward with tears running down my face, partly from being so worked up and shocked from the incident,
but more because I felt I knew the true power of human connection. Any of those people would have gladly gone to jail
to protect my rights and it was just too much to accept without crying. After the derby had ended, loads of people came
down and patted me on the back, shook my hand, and told me they thought I was courageous, etc. The moral of this story
is that the whole situation could have been avoided had I been thin enough, and able, to walk up into the stands to sit with
my family. Just in case you're interested, I did see a lawyer two days later. He told me that I could have easily
gotten enough money out of the master guy to pay for college and live comfortably, but I couldn't do it. The man was
obviously close to retirement and surely had a family. I could not take his life savings or more because of
ten minutes of his own stupidity. Some people thought I was stupid because I didn't go through with it, but it would
have been the same as stealing, for me. Well, I guess I've talked enough for one day. Goodnight.
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