Sitting in a corner in my kitchen is a large shopping bag. It's about half-full of clothes I am giving away to Housing Works. Normally, I don't care about stuff that I give away because, chances are, I have not worn it during the past year. For some reason, this bag is different. I have decided to purge some really special clothing. I guess special because they represent a huge past to me.
Okay, I'll be honest, they represent a past when I was so thin. Ultra-thin. Doing way-to-many-drugs thin. Staying-out-all-weekend thin. Water-and-Power-Bar thin. You get the picture.
Not that I miss those days of debauchery. Not that I miss some of the weirdos I knew. Not that I miss the headaches or the crashes or the depressions. What I do miss is the sense of freedom or the care-free attitude that came with being young, gay, and high. Meeting someone you think is so gorgeous and having them shower you with attention. I used to say, "Tim, it's the drugs, it's the drugs. Don't believe the hype." But yet, I still loved the attention.
The clothes in the bag were my "thin party-clothes". There is the $1000 white outfit that my friend designed specifically for me for a theme party. There's the sheer baby blue dress shirt that was my first big purchase in NYC. My high-water Yohji Yamamoto pants that I wore to many an open-air circuit party. My little red riding hooded-blazer that another friend made for me. I can barely get some of those clothes around my thigh now.
I guess I feel different about this bag because I feel like I am really putting away a part of my life. A part that started my gymrat days. A part that made the gym an obsession. I don't want to go back to those days. I love my life now. I like coming home to my handsome partner of seven years. I like getting up to see him leave for work. I love that I don't need to put on some ultra-clingy sheer shirt for any reason.
Even my gymrat status is fading a bit. Not that I mind. Later.