The Weight

Okay so...I'm fat.

I don't really care. I've said it before. It's not even the best term to describe me--more like an hourglass with a gut. I mean, I'm pretty healthy (read: I'm not dead) but let's be real, I'm fat. Considering that I'm not very tall, my weight puts me in the "morbidly obese" range of the BMI scale (no I don't particularly care about the BMI scale). But even in terms of fat percentage...whatever. I'm fat, that's about it.

I've been fat for a good portion of my life. About 6 years old I started biggening up a bit and it's just continued more or less. Naturally I got picked the fuck ON all through school until about the end of high school for my weight, even by people that were way bigger than me. I mean...really, if it wasn't my looks it was my weight, I couldn't win for a few years there.

My family didn't help much either. You see, my family is composed of "big folks" for the most part, and a good deal of them have some of the complications you'd expect from being overweight and/or obese. Me and my cousin on my mother's side, we have sleep apnea (his is worse than mine though, in fact since I was about 8 mine hasn't bothered me much in terms of sleeping & fatigue) which is one of those things that is fairly common but still associated with obese people.

In any case, also for a good portion of my life, I felt bullied into losing weight by my external family. I was made fun of & told that I need to be skinty or else, but you know, no one ever assisted me in weight loss, which as it turns out isn't that easy you know?

So I was bullied into losing weight, which I didn't much and actually ballooned up for a few years until I just gradually started losing weight on my own. Then it was a whooole damn different story.

My family, who generally seem to hate everything I am, started accepting me. My weight, despite still being considered obese, was fine now. In fact I should eat more. Everyone should eat more. Other kids in the family with weight problems? Just not eating enough. Eat more. They didn't get nearly the amount of shit I did about my gut (or at least not that I saw) and suddenly I too was fine.

I'm slimming up they say, nice legs, finally have a waist. I should be flattered to be complimented so but really I'm just annoyed. You see, I was a horrible person and a misfit when I wasn't losing weight, then I randomly dropped about 20 lbs and everything was good *shrug* not to mention they still don't like me *sigh* (I don't like them either) But you know, I was suddenly able to fit all my clothes and it was "Heyyyyy come over here baabyyyy get you some chikin!"

Whatever, fam. Too bad it's already instilled in me a weight paranoia. Oh noes, am I getting fatter or are my clothes shrinking? Why can't my arms lose weight the same time as my body? I shouldn't be wearing this tank top, STRETCHMARKS OMG


Between my parents, because they're my parents I guess, there has always been great body acceptance. Except, especially in my dad's case, they kinda went about it the wrong way. My mom was usually "You look great, just..." which was basically a "but" or an "if", so I wasn't fine the way I WAS, I just COULD be okay. I could be better, stronger, faster than I was before.

With my dad, I wasn't fat, I just had to drain myself of fluid. He is forever trying to get me to take fluid pills despite the fact that there's...no basis for why I would need fluid pills. At all.

So between all that, it was usually up to me to accept my smallish, drooping boobs, my gut, my legs, my love handles, everything, and that was no small feat considering all the static I got. But eventually I did, even though I still avoid mirrors to some extent. I accept ME as ME because I really have to or else no one else will, as Katt Williams says, I am my motherfucking star player after all.