Why is this? I’m fat.
I don’t need a motorised scooter to get around or anything, hell I don’t need to go to plus sized clothing stores to make my clothes fit. But I do take up space. My lifestyle, dare I say, is all right. I go to uni, I play sports, I go out dancing on a Friday night. But according to many, larger women don’t deserve to have anything that makes them happy.
Oh, I wouldn’t go as far to say that I’m being denied employment or service at restaurants because I’m overweight. It’s the little things that get to you. Recently, my roommate posted this on his page.
Now this in itself isn’t offensive or surprising to me. What was offensive to me was how this study shat all over scientific methodology, but whatever. I have been told, in no uncertain terms by several men that they don’t have time for rounder ladies. I do forget how widespread this view is, but topics like this get people talking – and I realise just how prejudiced people around me are.
The first comment was from a pregnant friend, who wrote this:
“well, I’m screwed then!”
To which my room mate replied,
“Only for a few more months, Meg!”
Oh yes, don’t worry Meg. See right now you are a horrid, squelchy, ugly being, using your pregnancy as an excuse. You can make your husband pie every night, you can clean the house until it looks like the cover of Better Homes and Gardens, and you can wait on him hand and foot. But could he be happy when he’s married to a fatty? Never! Don’t worry though– as soon as you pop that baby out, you can starve youself, ditch the baby body and go back to being the kind of wife you husband can take outside.
I made a comment too
“uh oh, I’m screwed long term!’’
To which my roommate replied –
“only cos you let yourself be :)”
ARRRGH! THE CONDESCENDING SMILEY FACE OF DOOM!
Wow. In one sentence, without even stating anything directly, my roommate has inferred everything that bothers me about my weight. This would be my direct translation
“Oh Voyager, you so silly. Not only are you repulsive to look at, but you’ve forgotten it’s your lazy, weak willed character it that got you there!”
And thus followed a delightfully immature facebook argument where I called him ignorant, and he called me lazy in less vague terms that got to the point where I nearly stormed into his bedroom, tipping his protein powder onto his bed and asking him why he dared make fun of my food issues when he lives on fake protein and amino acids. Ah, but he’s not fat, therefore he’s an expert on healthy eating and successful relationships, no? Being the ugly, weak, big mac inhaling fatass I am, I can’t help but preach the necessity of sensitivity and personality compatibility in relationships. Silly Voyager indeed.
So to recap – why did I brain fart and get fat in the first place? It’s a long story, but after my breakdown, they fed me a lot of Zyprexa. And sodium valproate. And many others. I put on 5 kilos in my first week. I gained 30 kilos in just three months.
My fuller figure is a battle scar because I was very, very ill. I was out of control. These drugs were a last resort to get me from a mess of a human being needing constant supervision to an independent law abiding citizen. So, whenever one of you materialistic bitches that make up 99.8% of society thinks it’s funny to comment on my physique do you know what I hear?
“Well Voyager, you probably would be dead now if you didn’t take that drug. But you did and look at you now – a big fat loser. That’s so much worse! You should have refused it – yeah, you would be dead, but you would have died thin and beautiful, and isn’t that what really matters?”
So it seems. I’m not on the drugs anymore, and my energy levels have returned to normal. I’ve been shifting the weight, slowly but surely. It’s been hard though, funnily enough losing weight ain’t easy! If only I could stop eating…it’s just that when all you hear are people telling you how repulsive the way you look is, eating a large triple cheeseburger meal might be the only good thing that happens to you all damn day.
