my mum decided to tell me that people were prejudiced against hiring fat workers.

Sucks to be me, I guess.
Being fat is like an invitation to the rest of the world. It's like being invisible, but wearing neon amongst pastels. It's misery solidified, because being fat is never something you choose to be. It's disgusting, a sign that someone has let go. Being fat is giving permission for everyone to support their flagging spirits by saying, 'at least I don't look like them'.

To anyone who might read this who says, 'beauty is what's on the inside/people will recognise who you really are, a nice person' and the rest of it -- I don't want to hear it. Really don't. It's like fairy-tales for fat people. 'If you're nice enough, and funny enough, and sweet enough, and god damnit, hard-working enough, someone will forgive you being fat, whoops, did I say that?'

Bullshit. 99.9% of the world is shallow as hell. I'm shallow as hell - I don't see any other fat girl saying, 'well, he's so nice... I mean, I don't mind the looks and everything, because he's just so funny I want to snog him'.

My friends are oddities too. Stephen, I love him as a mate, but I can see what people say about him. Even me. Me who knows him, who's seen him through crushes on other friends -- even I can go, well, 'yknow, I like him as a person, it's just...'


Being fat means 'just' has a whole new bitter depth of meaning. See, we know that we're unforgivable. You can't buy us pretty clothes, Mum, or show off your daughter, Dad. We know we're not going to be the most popular person in existence, because people. don't. like. what. they. don't. want. to. see.

We don't need reminding.

And yet, we've given you permission. You can say things to us that you wouldn't dare say about someone with a fault that wasn't theirs. You couldn't say to a black person, 'they don't like you because you're black'. You couldn't say to a handicapped person, 'well, because your face is a bit different, they aren't attracted to you, haha'.

It's not their fault, see, so it's sensitive. When it's fat, it's disensitised. Anyone can make fat jokes. Anyone can look at you, and think comfortably, 'well, at least I'm not like them'.

Your siblings can say in front of you, to friends, 'ah well, the person she knows was trying to make me speak in CCF, so told me X was dating my sister. And I screamed'. Your parents can make the most hurtful comments possible. Your friends, your pretty, slim friends, who deal with pretty, slim problems, like boyfriends, and sex, and lives, can just not get it. They're doing it 'to help'. 'Cruel to be kind'. 'She'll get past it'.

Because it doesn't hurt, doesn't it? We see ourselves in the mirror, we live our lives, we buy clothes.

Except we don't. Because if you're fat, if you're large chested past the point of buying pretty, girly bras from girly shops, so that you have to buy old-lady support systems, if the girly shops don't stock enough in your size, and the sales assistants shrug when you ask, you don't buy clothes. Those pretty girly bras you fit into for all of a year are tucked away in a box, and the clothes that you didn't have a chance to wear out - they're folded on top of a wardrobe, or in the back of a drawer. You still hope, you see. You keep thinking, 'I can go back'.

Except you don't.

When you're fat, you get fatter. Because each desperate foray into the real world hurts. Someone manages to pick the point that stabs the deepest.

Fat people work hard to be liked, or they give up, so they don't get hurt. When you're fat, you don't get to be a teenager. You don't get the same problems, 'I snogged that guy while pissed, omg, what do I do?' You don't get two dates somewhere, and have to let someone down gently.

You're still waiting for the first kiss. And because you can't have it, because there is no prospect of it, it becomes a fragile, momentous thing, because at least if it's perfect, you're picky. It's not that the world doesn't want you, it's that you don't want the world. You're 'not interested' at the moment.

Oh, and of course, it's all right for the world to call you a lesbian so often, you start to question your own sexuality simply to work out if that's the problem, in the desperate hope it's not fat at all.

Being fat means seeking approval. You want it and you disgust people at the same time. You can fight to come out top everytime, and aim as high as possible. And if you come out well, people will ask one another, 'why doesn't she put that will power, to, you know...' Sometimes, they ask it to your face.

Fat. Three letters that make people sick and bitter, and cry and hurt and feel. Fat isn't a problem, it's a life, a box, a way of keeping someone in, trapping who you are.

So don't bullshit me about me being 'okay'. I'm not. No one is. And I want to be free to go, 'fuck YOU. FUCK EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU'. Because you have no idea what it feels like, to be here, in this box, and scream to get out. When you turn to the people who are supposed to love you, and see that same word in their eyes, accusing.

I'm fat. I didn't sign it, but there's the invitation.
When your own mother bullies you about your weight, telling you you're so fat you can't bend your legs, and then when you protest, saying 'the truth hurts', and demanding to know how much weight you've lost...

That's when you know life fucking bites.



January 2010



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