Fat Chick Typing

I am overweight according to medical professionals, our government, the fashion industry, the media, and society in general. Sometimes more so, sometimes less so. I am curvy. I am soft. I have flesh covering all my bones. If you ever see me with a small ass or any bones poking out, assume that I am ill.

I am fat because of genetics, lifestyle, emotional issues, psychological issues, medical issues and personal history to varying degrees. These are my business. I do not need to justify or explain to you which one is the current primary factor.

Sometimes I am even fatter because of genetics, lifestyle, emotional issues, psychological issues, medical issues and personal history to varying degrees. These are my business. I do not need to justify or explain to you which one is the current primary factor.

Sometimes I lose a chunk of weight because of genetics, lifestyle, emotional issues, psychological issues, medical issues and personal history to varying degrees. These are my business. I do not need to justify or explain to you which one is the current primary factor.

I FUCKING HATE TO TALK ABOUT IT. There are a teeny tiny number of people on the planet I do not mind talking about it with, and chances are, you are not one of them.

I am not saying that I am embarrassed about being fat. I am fat. I am okay with that. I am just beyond mother fucking tired of the concept that there is some value placed on the number of pounds or the number of lumps or the amount of jiggle. If the only thing that interests a person about me is the way I look, I really wish they would Go. The. Fuck. Away. It just isn’t that fucking high up on the importance scale for me, and I would rather converse with somebody that I have more interests in common with.

The fact that acquaintances will stop to gush if I happen to be on a downward trend is to my ears unwanted, uncomplimentary and actually RUDE. I do not care if you think I look good. I do not care if you don’t understand that saying *that* is the same as saying that you used to think I looked bad. The fact that we live in a society that has it shoved up their ass that “you look like you’ve lost weight” is a compliment does not excuse you in my mind. I live in the same society and my brain can still think for its fucking self. Statistics show that whatever I drop I will most likely pick up again. What goes down, most likely will go up. If you only like me when I am less fat, you might as well go away now, because I AM FAT.

Let’s not even hide behind the concern for my health bullshit. The fact of the matter is that I am usually HEALTHIEST at a “sweet spot” in the middle of my (very large) low and high range. As in that is the spot where my blood tests and blood pressure are at their supposed medical best. When I am lower and getting all the compliments is when my blood pressure is at the worst and my cholesterol levels are highest, yes, higher than when I am my fattest. I don’t give a fuck whether or not you believe me. I have to get blood tests regularly, so I know.

I do not lose weight to impress you. I do not gain weight to disgust you. I do not care which side of your personal “acceptable weight” line I am hanging out on. “Oh, YOU’RE not fat!” is not a compliment to me, no matter what some stupid talk show taught you. You might be shocked at just how tiny a shit I give about your opinion of my looks and politically correct concerns about my “health”. It is so small, calling it a fart would still be an exaggeration.

I am not “fat and proud”. I am not “fat and embarrassed”. I am fat.

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