I’ve been overweight my whole life. I was forced to go to Weight Watchers, alone, at 14 years old. And this wasn’t “count your points/real life scenario” Weight Watchers. It was measure your food into ounces/weigh your food Weight Watchers. I was 14! I didn’t do the food shopping in my house, nor did I prepare dinner.
I’ve never been bulimic or anorexic but honestly wish I had the willpower to do it. I still remember the very special episode of Different Strokes where Kimberly would binge eat and then some how regurgitate in the bathroom. I was only ten. I didn’t really understand it all, except I knew it kept her skinny and pretty.
I was called terrible names growing up, mostly by my own mother. I look back at pictures of me in high school and college and while I was bigger than most girls, I was by no means huge. But I was told I was. And every day of my life I thought about my weight and how other people looked at me.
I’ve lost weight. I’ve gained weight back. I’ve gained more weight. Recently, within the last year or so, I decided to stop obsessing over it. To stop caring SO FUCKING MUCH, if you will. Listen, I know better than anyone that society and, Europeans apparently, HATES fat people. I get the message loud and clear. I try not to be a gross fat person. I bathe, and groom and wear makeup and make an effort not to wear mid-drift shirts at Walmart. You’re welcome.
My dream is to just fit in. Or become invisible. I honestly do not care what anyone thinks about me anymore. I’m divorced and almost 40. Even when I was a hundred pounds lighter, I was never asked on dates. I never had a boyfriend after my divorce.
I’m on three medications whose side effects cause weight gain. Two of which are for my mental health. So if I stopped taking them to lose weight, I would be a basket case. Is that what society would rather? A non-fat crazy person walking around?
I’m not trying to offend anyone by being overweight. I’m sorry you all care so much. The person who cares the most is my mother. But she is also the rudest about it. It’s all she talks about. I even stopped talking to her a few weeks ago, and holy shit, it’s been the best few weeks of my life. No one judging me all the time. Criticizing me all the time. Asking me over and over again, “Don’t you care?”
I used to care. I used to care a lot. But I just stopped caring. And I don’t mean for that to come off in a bad way. Listen, there are lazy skinny people. I just happen to be a lazy fat person. I would’ve lasted longer than you skinny people in the ice age! It’s just in my genes.
I don’t have a significant other. I don’t have children. Who do I have to be thin for? Society? Oh fuck that. I go to get a physical every year. I prepare myself for my doctor to chastise me about my weight, but I ask her about my blood tests and such and guess what? I’m healthy! Can I walk up a hill without wanting to die? Nope! But my cholesterol is fine, my blood pressure is fine and I don’t have diabetes. Can it happen later in life? Sure, but so can being hit by a bus or shot at the local movie theater.
And if food makes me happy… so what? If you knew the life I had and the loneliness I’ve experienced, you would understand why I eat to comfort myself. People comfort themselves all the time… booze, drugs, sex. My drug is cake. I’m not hurting anyone.
I have ZERO desire to drink a kale shake for breakfast. I have NO desire to cut out bread and all things white in my diet. I’m happy for you if you do. But I honestly don’t care what you look like or what you do. I happily look at your P90X and Tough Mudder pictures on Facebook while I’m eating potato chips.
Earlier today, my mother told me she would rather my be a drunk than fat. Remember that part where I told you I was healthy? Yup. It’s true. But drunks…don’t they like, have liver problems and stuff? Or even skinny people who smoke cigarettes get cancer…but it’s okay because they aren’t FAT? Oh dear lord.
I just had to stop beating myself up over it. I’m gonna be fucking forty. I’m divorced and that whole thing sucked big time and then …like why do I have to live to make others happy?
Shouldn’t I live to make myself happy? I’ve traveled to Europe twice. I’ve bought my own car twice. I enjoying writing and watching movies and Netflix and visiting Disney World (which I know adds a lot of jokes because I’m fat). So, why can’t I just be a happy fat person? Because you find me offensive to look at?
Sorry, but I find your open carry gun offensive to look at, mostly because it can kill me. My fat can’t kill you. It could kill me, but I don’t really care. But that’s a whole other issue…
Thanks for letting me rant. I’ve missed this,