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Upon being fat

Is fat a bad word? We've been raised to believe it is. Is 'fat' a pejorative or is that simply the way it's been spat at people across the world as a word that crushes your heart and makes the blood rise to your chubby cheeks for daring to be heavier than the norm.


I can still hear the kids at school shouting it at me from across the playground, or strangers saying it in the street, or the woman at my after school club who first made me feel guilty about being overweight. She didn't call me fat, or make a comment about my weight, but she did deny me a second helping of scrambled eggs and pitta bread when the other children were readily allowed a plate of eggs.

My little seven year old heart broke in half, when I realised that it wasn't only the kids who, I was forced to spend so many hours a week with, saw me as some great obese creature, the woman who was charged with my care saw me similar; a mere child she had taken to shaming for their want of eggs.


Everything in my life seems to revolve around food. The constant feelings of shame that eating in public triggers, the shame I feel when paying for the food at Sainsburys, think that the cashier is judging my selection of food. The Haribo some children in the middle of Bristol's town centre threw at me while I wandered around with a friend. I can still feel the tears stinging in my eyes as a fried egg sweet hit the back of my head.


People stare at me near constantly, I'm fairly sure it's for a myriad of reasons. I don't help myself by being 6 foot tall (I had no say in that), or shaving off my eyebrows (blame my chosen profession of drag for that one), or having short, dark curly hair that I can often go days without brushing....but if I was, say, 5"5 with long brown hair and a set of brows that were the envy of Bristol, but still fat...would people even notice me? Would the constant staring, the perceived snide comments, the laughter I seem to think follows me around like a bad smell stop?


At this point I'm rambling. Hating my body, being ashamed of eating, frustrated that the general public are seemingly afraid of me, afraid of being denied comprehensive medical care because a doctor will write me off as another fat person with obesity related illnesses and ignore something serious.


I want a new body, and I am unafraid of making drastic changes to ensure that happens. I'm dieting at the moment, trying to muster up enough energy from my depressed brain to start exercising.


Sometimes I wish I could be a Victorian and simply install a Tapeworm to deal with the hunger pangs that make me want to curl up in a ball and cry. Alas, I will have to settle for flavourless food, and walking and walking and walking until my flat feet scream and my calves ache.


I'm a mess of emotions at the moment. Yearning for a new job, yearning for a relationship, yearning for a new body, yearning for a brain that isn't broken and fractured and full of poison.


Peace out. It's 7am and I haven't slept. Looks like we'll be having a manic week.


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