Feeding My Fat Body, Feeding My Soul
There is nothing neutral about the act of eating when you’re fat.
Sometimes I want to scream, but I wonder if anyone could ever hear it beneath all these layers of fat. I think about how in a perfect world I would not worry about money the way I do today, the way I do lately. And I wouldn’t worry about the basics of life like shelter, friendship, and oh yeah--food.
On the hierarchy of all addiction, battling food is so utterly unsexy. Not that a heroin or cocaine addiction is supposed to win you lovers, but let’s get real--people are often drawn to the tortured artist, dark and broody soul. As long as they’re you know, conventionally attractive.
But people with food addiction can be just as dark, brooding, and tortured. I promise. It’s just that it’s basically more acceptable and understandable to admit you have a drug addiction than admit you struggle so severely with food.
Like, who does that? Only overly fat and lazy people, right? People who are slow and dumb and more animal than human. People who don’t deserve love. They deserve every bit of mockery they get because obesity is a serious disease. It is an illness costing the country money. Costing the world money. And fat people are far too lazy to justify spending more money.
