Friday, February 03, 2012

A Treatise Upon the Word Fatty

I know that some people aren't going to like the fact that this is called 'Fatty Goes to the Olympics', or the web address itself.  I get that.  Fat acceptance is not a progressive issue.  Fat people say that it's the last great thing that everyone can make fun of (and as both a fatty and a mentally ill person, I say no no, the mentally ill are a far greater target of ridicule, but that is neither here nor there).  So why use the word fatty?

Because I am.

I'm pushing at least 250 lbs, maybe more (I won't be weighed till next week), on a 5 foot 7 inch frame.  I huff going up the stairs.  We were coming into England from the US and I had such shortness of breath from the oxygen thin air in the plane that I had to be wheeled out of Heathrow on a stretcher.  No one else on board had any issues.

I.  Am.  Unhealthy.

You may be 400 lbs, and can mountain bike with the best of them.  You may be 350, and have the ticker of a 18 year old gymnast.  You may be 275, and be in better shape than your vegan, yoga loving neighbors.  And good for you if you are.  But I'm not. And while some factors out of my control contributed to this (bipolar meds that killed my metabolism and slapped on 82 lbs in 1.5 years), many did not.  Example?

I know damn well that the crap I put in my face hole paired with my lack of exercise is a pretty damn big problem.

You may have a disease which results in massive weight gain, and I am sorry.  You may have an untreated hormonal imbalance, and I am sorry.  You may have a physical impairment which means you can't exercise, and I am sorry.  You may have a million different things wrong that cause you to gain/not lose weight.  And I am sorry.  Or, you may put a lot of crap in your face hole and then not exercise.  Either way...

I am not speaking for you.  I am speaking for myself.

I am fat.

That is not good.

It is killing me, this entire extra person hanging on my bones.  It makes my joints hurt and my legs swell.  It makes me wheeze and sweat when I walk fast.  It makes the skin on my thighs hurt being rubbed together.

Big may be beautiful, but its beauty is killing me.

So when I say I am a fatty, I mean just that:  I am a fatty.  I don't particularly care if you identify positively or negatively with the word, because this isn't your journal, it's mine.  This isn't your journey, it's mine.  And this isn't your life, it's mine.

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