Today is the last Saturday in June, which means…PrideFest time! This is when the decently sized LGBT community in Baton Rouge congregates to the venue (part of the LSU campus, this year) to indulge in some tasteful entertainment, socializing and blessing. But for me, it’s more than an outing. It is time spent in the judgemental public.
As soon as I learned the date of PrideFest this year, my mind had been racing to figure out what I’m going to wear. Amidst that, it’s the constant concern of my arms being too small or my legs, though very lean, still being too thin. Adding insult to injury, this is the first time I really paid attention to how massive my head is, and how that alone makes my lean, 5’9″, 145-ish pound frame look like a case of starvation. Take note of the fact that if you want to go based on my body mass index, I’m at 21, which is smack-dab in the middle of my weight range. I mean, I’m asking myself questions like, “My solid black jeans, or the rigid ones? Black Chucks or white? Are my quads big enough? My God, my arms! Maybe I should wear long-sleeves. Nah, that’s to dressy. I hope these T-shirts come in the mail on time. If my head were smaller, I’d look okay.” After a while, you begin to do yourself in, and I’m still questioning what I’m wearing! I have a ton of clothes, mostly skinny jeans, with another stockpile of clothes on the horizon. I’m eager for these outfits, but when the time comes, I’m still trying to figure out what to wear. A week later, I’m looking for an excuse to wear the very outfit that I didn’t want to wear when I had the chance to!
Late last night before bed, I was watching a special I DVR’d on Logo called The Adonis Factor, a spin-off of The Butch Factor. It’s a documentary about how predominant body image issues are in LGBT men. This entire movie hit close to home. Much of the focus was on the gymrats. I was once a gymrat, but haven’t been back to the gym religiously like before because I haven’t had as much time to. But that’s about to change because I refuse to believe that my arms look good on me at all. The bastards just will…not…grow! The men interviewed were some of the most oversized, steroid-faced, Smolder Rock dudes on the face of the Earth and they admittedly see themselves as the fat guy or skinny weakling that they were teased for. From here, I can admit that I have considered steroid use, and still do, sometimes.
As far as I’m concerned, I am still that 5’8″, 115 lb. Blow Pop with the overside head, odd complexion, unkempt face and bad hair. To top it off, when I look at my reflection when I’m walking, it looks like my ass is tooted up in the hair, so I already know I have bad posture. I also have a narrow waist and wider hips, so so much for wearing tight shirts! It all sums up to the fact that we have become fixated with this perception of the ideal male physique, that magical Mesomorphic body that nobody actually looks like. So while I love looking in the mirror because I believe I have potential, I still don’t think it’s enough. I’m constantly on the scale with my fingers crossed like, “145, 145, 145, 145, 145, 145” hoping to the heavens that I didn’t lose weight; both naturally and forcibly, I devour everything in sight, my stomach bloats with any little thing I eat and I’ve begun drinking water like a fish just I can use the bathroom frequently like I used to and flush it all out, while in tandem, ensuring that I don’t put on fat. It’s conflicting.
I mean, I’d love to take a run in the park, but I can’t afford to lose any weight! I’m sorry! But at the same time, I’m doing whatever I can to gain the weight and gain the muscle, but I’ve yet to be fully satisfied with the finished product. This is something that was also implied in the documentary–It’s easy to be fully aware of your problem, even picking others apart for not meeting your standards of attractiveness, but it’s way harder to actually fight the demon. So from watching the movie and typing this blog, my perception is still off. If I can add even an inch to my arms, I’d at least be somewhat satisfied. I mean, my triceps are f**king beautiful, but damn!