…but is she fuckable?
Not to brag, but I once ate an entire box of cornflakes in one sitting. As in, bowl after bowl of that soggy, cornflake slop. Not the first time, or the last time, I would binge eat until my stomach ached. That side seems so barbaric and savage like a lion after a kill. How can you not stop eating? Well, first off, food is delicious. Have you tried it?
Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels.
I don’t know. Being overweight is its own kind of comfort. It literally cushions you from the world, but it’s also like being on fire; people who see you think you might be hurting and feel a need to point it out to you as if you didn’t feel the heat of the flames.
I was fat for most of my life trying various diets, starving myself, running every day, meal prep, calorie counting, fad diets, and all the nonsense. I felt this need to be the size that everyone said I should be. When I was a kid, my father would tease me that I needed to be doing more “Mousercise”.
You probably shouldn’t watch it unless you’re really into my childhood traumas. So, as a [between 5 and 10 years old] kid, I was being made painfully aware of my meat suit and how it makes others feel. Why would my father care how I looked? Why was it so important? He wants people to be envious that he the prettiest daughter in all the lands? Oh, dearest Father, how I have not Mousercised myself into looking however you need to bring envy to your friends. I wasn’t even overweight…yet.
There’s an almost self-fulfilling prophecy of telling someone they are something for so long that they begin to believe it. I did. I believed I was ugly and fat before I knew any other fact about myself. Who would love me as I am? I developed a lot of unhealthy habits. I didn’t binge eat as often as one might think obese people do, but I didn’t eat well. I ate a lot of concentrated calories like peanut butter and ramen. I’m one of the lucky fatties who was only fat because of math calories and not a glandular or other health reason. I just didn’t know how to eat X number of calories, how much to exercise, or what foods to eat. I did figure it out. It’s not always something that is easy. It’s not like you hit 135 pounds, and that’s it. Well, you got there. No need to do more work. Fuck. It’s exhausting thinking about food constantly. A world in which I am constantly worried if I ate too much of what I ordered at dinner. A world where I’m scared to let people see me eat because I “don’t need to eat more, she looks like she’s had enough”. What’s the point of making everyone happy with my looks if I’m miserable?
I forget who said this, but food is the only drug you have to have every day, or you will die. Imagine you’re a heroin addict, but instead of quitting the drug completely, you need to have a little heroin every day to survive. Not TOO much. Just a little. If you have too much, people will call you a drug addict with no self-control. If you have too little, people will tell you how sick you look. You should have some heroin. Once again, I’ll stress to you to not have TOO MUCH heroin…just a little every day.
I think about food the way that sex addicts think about orgasms. It’s a lot. I was resigned to the fact that my mom has always been a bit overweight, and I guess I was to be, too. My genetics made it easier to put on weight or to love food, but the sadness I felt with my sexually-inferior body kept me throwing food into the sadness pit. It would never be full. It took many years of de-programming for me to get to a place where I was not a complete slave to food.
I went from a size 18 to a size 4/6. I’m not an example of “she did it, why can’t you?” I’ll tell you why. No one should do what I have done to my body. I shamed myself into eating only 500–1000 calories a day for weeks. I upped the calories months later after losing most of the weight. The rumbling of my stomach when it sounded like it was eating itself out of anger was violent. I’d just shove water down my throat hoping that SOMETHING would quell the hunger beast. I’d shove a my fist or a small pillow on my stomach as I lied face-down to sleep. I hoped it would make my stomach believe it was less cavernous.
I was miserable to be around. I was so focused on my diet, that I was the obnoxious person who constantly mentioned how many more calories I could consume for the day at any given moment. Imagine the most stereotypical new diet/a little “too” religious/crossfit/on a cleanse-type person. Can you picture them? Extremely annoying about whatever is working for them, and you should do it, too? Because misery loves company and wants to tell you all about it. They aren’t all miserable, I suppose. Anyone who is looking to fill a hole within themselves with becoming “obsessed” with ANY hobby/job/activity isn’t really that healthy. Balance is the key. I get concerned if someone likes a band a little too much. In my opinion, it’s never a good idea to put all of your money on one horse. Diversify your portfolio. Maybe it’s because I don’t like being the [whatever narrow descriptor you have for me] “girl”. I’m a woman, but…the parlance of our times. I was the “funny, fat friend” for the longest time. I was the funny girl who wore a lot of makeup to make sure I was seen as a woman. Check out this article called Why Is Hyperfemininity Expected of Fat Women, to read more about that. I’d like to deconstruct that subject some time in the future, but in the meantime, I need to tackle a different side of acceptance.
Being a bisexual feels a lot like being a “former-fat person”. I don’t really feel accepted by the fat community or the “fit” community. They don’t see me as the person who I see. Every time I see my face, or my body…who IS that? She’s more of what society says is “pretty”. You don’t have too much fat anywhere. In the right places, it’s okay. Have a big, juicy booty. That’s acceptable fat. Big, swinging boobs that enter the room before you do? Nice. Acceptable fatness. It literally is just fat, by the way. Titties; fat sacks with nipples. BUT! It’s like an avocado; good fat. So, I’m a woman who blends into the background more. To be more accurate, I stand out for different reasons. I thought I did. I went from having men call me “fat pig who needs to go on a diet” right after I “blow him and his friend”. I’d be “grateful” to do it, too. Who would want to fuck that, anyway? Have you tried to lose weight? Put down the cheeseburgers, etc. From there it morphed into more men giving me advice on how to please them with more efficacy; smile more, shake that ass, let your hair down, put on some makeup, and other helpful improvements. I had lost the weight, and I was still getting style tips. #Grateful
I think maybe people wanted to give me weight-loss help because they didn’t want to be reminded of their own personal fears of becoming fat.
I’m no longer one of Your Fat Friend’s “fellow fats”. If anything, I’m currently a former-fat. Weight fluctuates daily, so…check back to see my status. I bring this up for a reason. I look in the mirror, and I see a Schrodinger's Fat; both alive and not alive. I am both fat and not fat. I am both straight and not straight. I am both gay and not gay. I’m a woman without a country. I like blending in more with “average people”. I get to correct people when they fat shame. It’s one of my favorite things. I’m not your “fellow fit”. I don’t agree with your bullshit. You don’t know what or why their body is that way. Why do you care, anyway? It’s THEIR body? Why do you care what they do with it? Don’t give me the hospital arguments or the “my convenience has been compromised”. I’ve heard it, and the argument is poor. Anyway, I fit in my airplane seat just fine, but I will make room for my “fellow fats”. I will try my best to not buy into the lies of what makes a person beautiful. Do not use me as a “See! She lost weight. Why can’t you?” for anyone. I struggle with my personal heroin every day. It can kill me just like heroin with too much or too little to keep me from having withdrawals. I think about it constantly. I suppose this was just a long walk around my thesis; be nice. You don’t know with what someone else is struggling. Love shouldn’t be limited by weight or gender.