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Tag Archives: wellness

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┬áthose 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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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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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 Writing and Mental Health

I guest blogged on Maria Ann Green’s blog about how mental disabilities and illness have made me a great writer.

 
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Posted by on November 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Money is More Important than Food

Child gets denied school lunch because of something about his account being negative. Seriously? Wtf? The school says that they give students with negative accounts something to eat anyway. But it’s kinda sketchy that he wasn’t fed at all.
You need money to survive. This in and of itself is kinda fucked up. Money is a material item that in no way reflects your value as a person or your needs as a human being. This is why Marxism is fantastic. But what’s wrong with Marxism? People are fuckin greedy. Especially people used to living in capitalist societies.
I’m getting into things I don’t really understand. All I’m saying is I fucking hate this world revolving around money. It makes children go hungry, unhoused, uneducated, etc. It’s disgusting. And so is that woman who denied that boy food. I hope that school apologizes and gets to the bottom of it. And feeds him next time!

 
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Posted by on November 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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My Scars

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In this photo, I have explicitely pointed out three of my seven scars. I think it’s seven. Anyway. The ones on my forehead are from my bout of the chicken pox. No, I wasn’t a young child. I was sixteen. I spent a good deal of my life without them before they decided to invade my face. And I didn’t even scratch at them or anything! I TOUCHED them and they popped off with a lot of pain and deep, deep scars.

Then there’s the one by my eye. Now, it really just looks like a crease. But if you look really closely to your own eyes, you’ll notice that it doesn’t look quite like mine. I got bit by my dog. But it was all my own fault! I was really little and I was teasing my old dog Cinnamon out in the backyard. He got really mad or something and bit me by the eye No blood or anything. My parents said that if he did it again we would have to take him to the pound. I cried and was all “No! I was teasing him! Please don’t take him to the pound!”

Shows you how well my parents raised me, right? :).

 
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Posted by on November 19, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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