Fat bottomed girls you make the rocking world go round....

"It remains a radical act to be fat and happy in America…Being publicly fat and happy is hard; being publicly, shamelessly, unshakably fat and happy is an act of both will and bravery."– Melissa McEwan 

I am getting ready to go visit my Aunt in metro Detroit for the Thanksgiving Holiday. I am flying and it’s not the flying part that gives me a panic attack. It’s the flying while fat part that really throws me off. Once I am seated and in the air, all is well. But the days prior to departure I spend an unhealthy amount of time trying to figure out how to reduce myself.

Me in High School (Senior year?) with friends.

I have always been fat, so I have never known a life other than an overweight life. I have been picked on, ridiculed, subject to prejudice and judgement merely for existing.  I know that I have broached this subject before when I discussed the Dim wit who thought that I should be considered attractive simply because he was not attracted to me. But I bring it up again because it is a very real thing for me.

There are things that I am limited to doing. Things like going out with friends. I have to be acutely aware of whether or not the place we are going will be fat people accommodating. The same for classrooms and chairs, for a short time, I always sat at the back of the class so that I could attempt to reduce the stares from other students or blocking other people’s views. I am not only large, but also tall. This caused me to get distracted easily and spend most of my time shifting my weight from one butt cheek to the other because prolonged sitting makes me antsy and sometimes can cause my legs to go numb.

A lot of people tell me to not call myself fat. Those people see fat as a degrading “bad” word. To me, I think of it as a descriptive word, neither negative nor positive. It simply is. I will not stop calling myself fat because I do not find the shame in it that others do.  And to do so would to be somehow reducing myself to conform to a standard that I have and will probably never fully live by.  And when people try to use this word against me, while sometimes I am taken back, hurt even. The hurt purely comes from the hatred that it is said.

I am aware of the reality and what it means for me to exist around people who are not exactly like me and who even look at me as a mistake, a glutton, lazy, pig, or unclean.  I am none of these things.  I am, a person. A person who’s genetic make-up already dictated that I would have a larger statue. I am a person whose years of neglect and negligence from my parents have given me a weight to carry, quite literally.  I am a person who deserves to be treated as such. And I am aware of the changes in my life that I need to make. I know that I should get out more, eat better. I struggle with the same things that many people do, but because I exist in a fat body, I am more offensive than these other people.

I went to the doctors last week to get a check up on various things because I hadn’t been to a doctor and probably over 4 years for non-emergency related things.  I had decided that I have health insurance, and I needed to get myself checked out in case there were more serious things wrong with me than just my weight.  But going to a doctor meant that I would have to face the mean words. The disgust, the lectures, and even have my very real issues overlooked because all they saw was my fat. Whatever issues I have, they will all because I am fat. I have a cold and this is a direct result of me being fat. That being said, I wanted to make sure I was still fairing okay, because each time that I have met with a doctor, I have always came out of all of their exams with great results. I never had high blood pressure, diabetes or various other issues related to weight.  It was often alarming, but I was always warned that I was at risk because of my excess weight.

Just another work bathroom selfie.

My doctor made a comment to me as I sat with my arms around my stomach with my phone in my hands, resting. He said, “Your fat is like a comfy couch.” I have never been great at shielding my expressions because I looked at him as if to say “What the fuck?”

The sad part is, he wasn’t even the meanest doctor I have dealt with, he was actually the nicest. And that’s kind of sad.  In any event, I left with a prescription for my depression and blood pressure medicine. My fat was finally making me the risk I was always warned about.

The thing is, it’s not like I haven’t tried to lose weight. I have, months of working out 4-5 times a week while eating a balanced diet and I didn’t really see any results.  I told my doctor this much and he suggested having the sleeve done. A procedure where they make your stomach smaller and you lose a considerable amount of weight. I am no stranger to these surgeries and I was the one to help my aunt when she had gastric bypass. I have always thought about it, but the risks for me weren’t something I was ready to deal with. Things like the loss of hair, vitamin deficiency for the rest of my life, the compromised system of my body in general. It didn’t seem worth it when I have, for the most part loved who I am, regardless of my side.

I’m 31 now. And I finally think I am ready to consider the help of a surgery and this scares me on so many levels.  I feel like I have raised the white flag and admitted defeat against the world that has judged me for existing.  I am reluctant to say that I feel like I am sacrificing more than just my fat, but also myself, for the sake of reducing myself.

No matter what we want of life we have to give up something in order to get it. - Raymond Holliwell