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Tag Archives: health

You Don’t Know a Damn Thing About a Book by its Cover

After I finally decided to leave the pointless fight about feminism on youtube, I get another freaking notification from someone else on the same video on the same comment. In the comment, I told the youtuber that I, as a fat woman, appreciated the video. This new person goes “you choose to be unhealthy, hahaha.”

Like, seriously?

Seriously.

I think the youtuber in the video even MENTIONS how you can’t tell a person’s health by looking at them.

Not that this person really gave a fuck about my health.

Just because someone is fat, doesn’t mean they’re unhealthy. Just because someone’s thin, doesn’t mean they’re healthy. You don’t know shit about a person by just looking at them.

Let’s say the fat person does happen to be unhealthy. Do you know why? You don’t know shit that’s going on in a person’s life. Personally, I have PCOS, which makes it 10x harder to lose weight right at the start. Then, I’m kinda really struggling with my mental health right now. I’d rather be certain I won’t kill or hurt myself before I even try to bother with my weight. Trust me, my mental unhealth will kill me sooner than my body’s will.

I hate exercise with a seething passion. Y’know that whole endorphin bullshit they talk about when you exercise? Idk about you, but for me, it’s bullshit. I don’t get happy when I exercise. I get exhausted, out of breath, sweaty and gross, and miserable. Even if I just walk the dog around the block. It’s still exercise, it’s still work, and I still come back exhausted, out of breath, sweaty and gross, and miserable.

Food is wonderful. I think my tastebuds are a little extra sensitive, which is possible because I may have Asperger’s. So when I love a food, I LOOOOOOOOOVE it. When I hate a food, I hate that shit and can’t eat it at all. Food is a comfort and a pastime. It’s for celebrations, comforting, anything. And I’m always hungry. I HATE being hungry. Hate, hate, hate. Can’t stand it. Used to be able to ignore it, but that was when I had stronger reasons not to eat. Now, I have food right in the kitchen. Or right down the street that I can bring home for now and later.

Why the Hell should I bother to try and lose weight when my body’s working against me from the beginning (PCOS), I hate exercising, and food brings me so much joy? Because my body will kill me if I keep going this way? What’s the point of living longer if the quality of my life is brought down like that?

I absolutely hate, hate, HATE trying to regulate myself. I don’t want to have to bother or worry. Nor do I want to be different from everyone else. Everyone else can do whatever the fuck they want. They don’t have to regulate themselves like I would have to.

Happiness is so hard for me to grasp these days. I hold on tight to the happiness I can get. And a lot of the time, that’s food.

I can’t make myself do things I don’t want to. I have no motivation. What’s the point? It’s not going to make me feel better. I’ve tried. So what’s the point?

Anyway, why the Hell did the fat-mocker think it was OK to laugh at me? Why is it EVER OK to laugh at someone who’s different from you? Who makes different choices from you? It’s NEVER OK.

Then the original asshole, the anti-feminism one, told the fat-mocker that I’m a stereotypical feminist that deletes things I don’t like. Listen here, fucker. I reported those comments because they were HARASSMENT. Why are you sticking around talking shit about me? Are you really in so much need of self-verification and ego-boosting? Pathetic.

Fuck Youtube. This is why I never leave comments on there.

 
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Posted by on September 29, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Why I’m Covering My Hair Tomorrow

Cover Your Locks for Love

I’m not Jewish. Nor am I married. But I asked my Jewish friend, and was assured that I could still do this for her father, Yakov Ezra ben Regina. Her family is Jewish, and her father has been in a coma for almost two years. As I lay in bed trying to sleep, and thinking about how to make work let me do this, the nay-saying part of my brain came up with some pretty good questions.

Do you believe this will help?
I don’t really know.

Do you believe in the religion?
I mean, I don’t know enough about it. But I respect it.

How can this help if you don’t believe in it?
I hope it does help. If not, it doesn’t hurt to do something this harmless when someone you care about believes it will. But I really, really hope it’ll help.

She didn’t ask YOU to do it. It’s for married, Jewish women. Besides, covering your hair is totally against what YOU believe in, isn’t it?
I don’t know if it’s against what I believe in as a feminist. BUT I’m doing it in honor and out of respect for her, her father, and the Jewish community. And I’m partly hoping that it’ll start a conversation and make people aware of, not only a man in need of prayers, but of acceptance and embrace-ment of other cultures, religions, beliefs, etc.

You never even met him.
I don’t have to. He’s M’s father. He raised a wonderful woman. And they both deserve to spend more time together and with her brother.

All in all, this is all about Yakov Ezra ben Regina. I want him to get well. And I will do all I can to honor and help that man. Readers, I ask you to pray for him. In whatever way you pray, whomever you pray to, please, include him in your prayers. Thank you.

 
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Posted by on June 19, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Eat, Eat, Eat, Eat, Eat

All I do is eat, eat, eat, eat, eat. Seriously. Sometimes, it gets to the point where I’m force-feeding myself. Why? Because I have Asperger’s.

With my Asperger’s, I’m big on how things feel, physically and emotionally. And the physical and emotional often connect. I’ll get bored, or I’ll just get cravings, and nothing will satisfy me except eating whatever I’m craving. And that craving will be: chocolate, carbs, something-unhealthy-besides-chocolate, something-unhealthy-maybe-chocolate, hard-candy-like-lollipops, you get the idea. BTW, those are literally the words that go through my head when I’m craving.

I’ve tried doing other sensational things (or whatever the word is) before eating, to try and trick my brain into not wanting to eat anymore. Like petting the dog. I love petting the dog. But even that doesn’t compare to eating.

See, eating feels so good. Taste feels so good. Like, really freaking good. Imagine your favorite food, ever, of all time. Now multiply that sensation and satisfaction by ten. That’s probably what my least-favorite-but-still-like-it food does to me. I mean, I’m no shrink, but that’s what I’m guessing considering how freaking easy it is for everyone else to give up food compared to me. I. Can’t. Do. It.

“Oh, just do smaller portions.”

Where the fuck is the satisfaction in that?

I seriously want to cry right now. I just force-fed myself two PB&J sandwiches because I was just craving carbs. My mouth just wanted to chew something soft like that and my tongue just wanted to taste something nice like that (but, dear God, don’t suggest chewing fabric. I can’t stand fabric in my mouth. Bread and fabric are different. Idk how, but they are). I can never get enough. Even when my stomach is ready to burst.

I have no control. I used to have control. It used to be so much easier. Then I got depression and all went to Hell. Please, is there anyone that can help me?

 
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Posted by on March 17, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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I’m Making My Boyfriend Fat

This was going to be, “I Hate My Boyfriend’s Mother,” and I’m going to get to that, but then I started getting down on myself.

L’s family is really big on healthy eating. And, well, I’m most definitely not. Not that I don’t want to be. I’m just super picky. And I struggle greatly to control myself. Especially since I got depression. (Yes, I -got- depression. I wasn’t depressed before or during most of college). I have noticed that since we started dating seven and half months ago, he’s developed a little gut. But I didn’t care in the least. Besides, I quite like guts.

But L’s parents have noticed, too. And they’re getting on his case about it. Now I’m getting concerned. Is it really that big a deal? Do other people notice, too? Do his coworkers? Does the public? Is he going to get even bigger because I’m encouraging him too much to eat just like me? Not that I care if he’s big or small, trust me on that. I just don’t want him to feel what I feel. I don’t want his parents to treat him the way they treat me behind my back. Except it won’t be behind his back. And it’ll be worse. And it’ll be all my fault.

Besides, being healthy is a good thing. And I’m making his unhealthy. That’s bad. :(.

I hate his parents. I hate his parents. I. Hate. His. Parents.

They came up with some bullshit today that he has an obligation to his family and should eat dinner with them.

He’s 28 years old.

He has no obligation to them beyond chores because he lives in their house.

He’s in that house all the time, cleaning it from top to bottom, doing laundry, doing dishes, while no one else lifts a fuckin finger. Excuse him if he wants to go have dinner with his girlfriend who doesn’t like the fish you guys are having. And who would refuse to eat with you anyway because you treat both of us like shit. I know they think I’m shit because I’m fat, I’m taking him away from them, and am making him fat.

My counselor told me that my eating habits should be none of my parents’ business, because I’m 24 years old. If that’s true, then that goes for L’s parents, too. If he wants to match my eating habits, that’s none of their freakin’ business. They have no right to say anything about anything about his eating or weight.

But I still feel bad I’m making my boyfriend fat and unhealthy just like me :(.

 
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Posted by on February 23, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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One of the Many Reasons I Hate Myself

Because I was babysitting tonight and the preschooler asked if I was pregnant.

“No, sweetie.”

“Then why is your belly so big?”

It’s not the first time a young child has made note of my fatness. And it devistates me. But obviously not enough to make me change my habits. Today, I tried so hard not to eat because I had to save my appetite for dinner with L. But I was really craving something soft to chew. Like a cupcake, or a soft cookie, or a PBJ sandwich. I’m saving the remaining cupcakes for L and me to eat together, so I opted for a PBJ sandwich even though I was beyond not hungry and, as I said, had to save my appetite. That was how badly I needed that sensory sesation. Whatever it’s called.

I had tried to avoid it. But you can only pet the dog for so long until it gets boring or even the dog gets sick of it. Or both.

Now, don’t go complaining about bad parenting or anything about these kids. It’s not their fault. They don’t know. They’re used to seeing average-sized people. Not fatsos like me.

 
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Posted by on December 13, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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You Don’t Care About Our Health

I’m trying. I really am. I’m trying to read other people’s perspectives when it comes to weight. People saying that we need to encourage healthy lifestyles, etc. But all I’m seeing is prejudice and ignorance.

You don’t care about our health. You really don’t. I can see it. I can see it in your faces. I can see it in your words. In your lack of research. In everything that’s missing in your narratives. I don’t care if you’re a coach, a med student, or whatever. You don’t care. Not when you talk like that.

You talk about food and exercise. That’s it. You talk about women. That’s it. You say things like “you broke the X-ray table.” If you care about my health, why do you shame me by reminding me that I broke the X-ray table?

Why do you look at me like that?

If you care about my health, why don’t you do some research? Things that affect weight. I seriously thought it was common knowledge that there were a myriad of things outside of food and exercise that affected weight. Obviously, I was wrong. And I’m sorely disappointed in my society because of that.

No, I’m not going to tell you the other things that affect weight. Because you don’t care. All you care about is how my weight makes you uncomfortable. You mask your voiced discomfort with concern for my health. It’s a thin mask. I see right through it. Stop acting like you care about my health.

Let’s say for a minute that you do care about my health. Guess what? It’s none of your business. My health is between me and my doctor. It’s my and my doctor’s problem. Not yours. So fuck off and get over it.

My weight makes you uncomfortable. That’s all there is to it. Get over it.

 
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Posted by on December 3, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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On My Days Off

I love my days off. But there’s one thing about my days off that I hate. I. Can’t. Focus.

God knows I have a million and one things I want to do. I want to read, I want to write, I want to edit, I want to blog. But I sit down and start something, work on it for, like, a few minutes, then lose my focus and have to walk away. Even when I’m on my meds! Now, if I were being paid for it, I might be able to make myself focus. But this is for pleasure. So, I’m not going to make myself keep doing something when I stop feeling like it. But, why do I suddenly stop feeling like it? Even though I enjoy it thoroughly?

Then sometimes I can’t even start something because I just don’t feel like it. Like, seriously? You love doing those things, Lacey!

Then, when I’ve left my thing out of sudden disinterest, I wander around bored looking to settle my carb cravings, though trying really hard not to. Today, my mom was successful, for a couple hours, in getting me out of the house to pick up the cause of my carb cravings (medication) and some presents for international friends. Jesus, Hallmark is expensive.

Is this my ADD? Do I need my meds upped? I should ask my doctor. Because I hate spending my days off like this. Where most of the day is wandering around bored when there are a ton of entertaining things I could be and want to be doing.

 
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Posted by on December 2, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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