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I am ranty and upset and I really miss home.
I have always hated shopping. Shopping is difficult for me. Being a big girl, I’ve resigned myself to years of living in shapeless clothes. Lots of black, no colors, no shape at all. I have a shape, and it’s round, and should be something that is hidden under as much clothing as possible. There was a brief time when I didn’t give a shit, and would wear sleeveless shirts with lots of cleavage. But I have learned to be absolutely ashamed of my body, and should hide it as much as possible.
I wish that I had it in me to wear pink tights and skirts and sleeveless shirts, just because. But I can’t. So I find stuff that sorta fits, and have stopped caring what I wear, as long as the flab isn’t showing. It doesn’t help that I now live in a country that’s even LESS accepting of people like me. And even if I wanted to buy new clothes, I couldn’t find any that even “sorta” fit. Not unless I want to spend a fortune.
So WalMart stuff is cheaply made and mostly crap, but I know I could walk into any WalMart in America and find trousers that fit me. I could find sweaters and tshirts and workout gear that fit me. Sure, it’s crap. But at least it’s available.
What the high street here tells me is that “You are not allowed to feel good about yourself if you are overweight.” I went into a store trying to find a bra my size. The store has an entire floor full of bras, but poorly organised, and I found 30 minutes trying to hunt down the color combination for my size. I found -3-. 3. And they’re not the prettiest in the world. There was a grand total of 1 sports bra in my size. And it’s like origami to try to put it on my body. So, you want me to work out and lose my fat? Ok, great, where do I start?
And shoes. The whole shoe department had maybe 3 pairs of shoes that were wide fitting. And we’re talking about 30 racks of shoes. I don’t care how much weight I lose, I’m still going to have wide feet that are a half size that no one carries. And I’m always going to have these calves that no normal size boots will fit. Unless I have some sort of calf liposuction to reduce the mass of muscles there, they’re never going away.
There was one store here in town that was a “fat girl” store. 3 floors of awesomeness staffed with these amazing women that always looked stunning. It closed a few months after I got here and moved into a tiny corner of a department store where no one even looks twice at you or tries to help. The clothes look so sad and pathetic, as if they were just kind of thrown in there, in the back of the store, to hide the fat women from the rest of their customers.
I’m pissed. I’m SO sick of being told that I need to hide. I just wanted to find some sweaters and a few pairs of khakis for our trip to Scotland. But no luck. I ended up crying in the store’s cafe while my husband tried to calm me down. I’m sick of being told how worthless I am for being my size, and that I can’t possibly be happy with my body until I’m this unreachable ideal.
I hate having to apologise for living. I feel like I have to make an excuse for everything I put in my mouth. I hate having to make an excuse for being alive.
I’m sick of having no voice. I’m sick of being told that I am a worthless human being.
So I’ll go on my trip with shapeless clothes that are 2 years old and falling apart because I can’t find anything in this entire country that fits me and makes me feel beautiful.
You think I should lose weight for my health? For my Happiness? And if I agree to do it, does that mean I have to hate myself and be depressed the entire time? What about the body I have RIGHT NOW? It’s not ok to love it because it’s disgusting right? I shouldn’t show my arms or my legs or any part of me, cover it and wear black until I am thin or I die from being such a fat fat fatterson. Because obviously all I do is sit on my couch and eat junk food all day, because that’s what we do, isn’t it? People like that shouldn’t be allowed to live or have feelings right? No, I don’t have feelings, I’m too insulated to feel them, right?
I am sick of living my life waiting to be happy because I don’t think I deserve it. And if I keep listening to what everyone tells me, I don’t.
Today I was late leaving the office for circumstances not entirely in my control. Plans fell through, yadda yadda, and so I was late. Leaving late meant that I had to take the 5 PM bus, much much much more cramped than the earlier one. And I was late getting to that bus as well, so I barely made it. And since I was so late, I didn’t have the luxury of picking my seat. I like to sit as close to the door as humanly possible, because there’s only one exit door on this particular bus and I like to be able to see it. Today, there was only one seat left. At the very back.
I settled myself in and tried to relax. My normal bus takes 40 minutes, this one almost an hour and a half due to traffic. I tried not to panic, but only when we were almost to my stop did I start to completely have a meltdown. People and luggage were clogging the aisles, all the way to the door. And to make matters worse, the idiotic bus driver started letting people on through the same door! I am pushing my way past people, having to shove some of them just to squeeze by.
This situation was completely avoidable. There would have been a seat for EVERYONE if the bus driver had done their job and ordered the idiot tourists to put their luggage in the luggage racks or in the luggage area and NOT ON THE SEATS. And also, tell the people to put their buggies away and in the luggage racks and hold their children, then there’d be more room for luggage. And finally, let everyone get off before you start letting new people back on. I know you have a schedule to keep, but for fuck’s sake. Seriously.
I wasn’t thinking about that as I tried to claw my way to the door. I heard the huffs and saw the rolling of the eyes, and I could feel the stares. I heard someone grumble to get on with it, as if I could suddenly make myself thin and magically squeeze myself through the giant horde of passengers. I could hear the (imagined) shouting and the loud condemnation from every person I passed. As if it was my fault for being fat that I couldn’t get off the bus. As if I should make allowances and sit nearer the front (like I always do), as if I should know better. Ok, so no one was shouting, but I felt it, and heard it, and experienced it as if they were.
This has happened before, and the last time, I just found a dark corner and cried until I felt better. Today, I ran. Ok, not really running, but I walked faster than I have in a long time. I was pissed. I clenched my teeth, and glared at everyone who happened to walk past. I was so upset, I imagined that everyone was saying something about me as they walked past me. I wanted to punch something and punch something hard. I wanted to hurt everyone who had ever hurt me, or anyone who thinks that it’s perfectly acceptable to judge me because of my size. I wanted to scream. A lot.
I got home in record time. I honestly don’t remember most of the trip. I’m still seething with all this pent up rage. I want to scream and tell the world that I AM SICK of being demonized because of who I am. I am SICK of it being ok to bully me because I’m fat. I am SICK of being the object of years and years of torture that was acceptable, because it was “for my own good”. And most importantly, I am SICK of being made to feel like I should get to a “breaking point” and “hate myself enough to change”. FUCK THAT. I am so sick of hating myself. I’m so over that.
I know that I’m not going to wake up in the morning into a world where people stop allowing people to be judged solely on the size of their bodies. I know I’m not going to wake up and be magically “normal” either. And I know it’s going to take a long time before I can find the peace to be ok with all that I have.
For now I just wanna scream. Who’s with me?