You Don’t Have To Go Home, But You Can’t Stay Here

I USED to have a reputation as a party girl. and this fatbitch here lived up to it. i was pretty proud of it in fact. you could lay out four shots of ANYTHING on the bar, and girlfriend here would drink it. again, i’m actually proud of it. i had my very own custom drink at a bar and even would get the old “NORM!”-from-cheers-type of yell when i would walk into certain places. it was a very nice ego boost and helped my morbidly obese self esteem a lot. alcoholic-ally speaking, i realize that’s not really a good thing. eh. *shrugs* i had the reputation of being the first person on the dance floor and was going strong until the house lights came on and the dj tried shooing everyone away with Closing Time by Semisonic. i was a diva and people enjoyed it. i was a plus sized goddess and i had lots of followers (none of which were chubby chasers, thank you very much). i had a reputation. but in a very very positive way. people looked to me for a fun night of dancing and partying. i was everyone’s cruise director; friday night would roll around and i’d get a dozen texts of “what’s going on for tonite?” i was fun. and everyone had fun when they were with me. there was no shame in that. i was an inspiration to fat girls. they saw me dressing the way i wanted to, i got hit on, picked up, always had people buying me drinks, i always had dates, got hookups- you name it. anything us fat girls envied the skinny girls for- i did. and people noticed. it was fantastic. i was a chubby girl hero for fucksake.

now before you go and think i was some boozy slutbag (which in actuality, i was) i was also a good mom. i truly was. not in a Jerry Springer- “I GOT SIX BABY DADDY TO MY KEEDS, BUT I’M STILL A GOOD MOM”-defense-type of way- i really was. i was a proud mom. a boozy partier- mom. go ahead and judge all you want. my former marriage was rough and admittedly i married too young. so i got my second chance. and i didn’t waste a second.   but for as much as people loved the party girl part of me- they also loved how much i cherished my son.  i had a reputation for being an awesome mother.  IN YOUR FACE, NAYSAYERS!  i did it all!  true story!

but that was back in my hayday. i’m pretty much the same person as i ever was- but not really. i’m still a good mom and i still can do four shots without thinking, but i don’t go home with different people anymore. i volunteer a lot and spend more time in my jammies than i used to, but i still enjoy life. i don’t feel as inspiring to anyone anymore, especially fat girls, but, i hope that a younger version of me is out there somewhere, dancing with strangers, having all of her drinks bought for her and living life for all it’s worth.

but beyond good mom and a very active member of the Pittsburgh GLBT community, i don’t have much of a reputation anymore and i’m okay with that. i’m involved in a lot of things and do as much as i can, whenever i can, but don’t really mind blending in with the scenery. i still manage to stand out as i will never fit all of the way in because i’m am an obnoxious loud mouth with a hearty laugh- and that’s okay with me. if that is what i am known for, i’m absolutely okay with that.

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I Was Fat-Shamed By My Nurse Practitioner

i’m pretty sure the nurse practitioner fat-shamed me yesterday.

i was in getting a routine physical, and they have to get your height and weight as they always do (one day i’d like to come in 4 inches taller and see what they do). time for the horror every fatty has dealt with since the embarrassment of getting weighed in high school. i step on the scale thinking that the number should be lower, since I’ve been going to the gym and watching what i’ve been eating. then i think that i should take my scarf off since that will add about 9-10 pounds. and my shoes. yes, my skimmers. they should come off. i start to panic sweat, unhappy with this whole fucking process. the sweating alone added 4 pounds. and my jeans? HEY LADY! I’M WEARING JEANS! you can’t accurately weigh a person wearing goddamn jeans! what the fuck did they teach you in nursing school? and i’m wearing a thick sweater and a hoodie…. good lord- they MUST HAVE SAID SOMETHING IN NURSING SCHOOL ABOUT COLD WEATHER, RIGHT? thick clothes? HEAVY MATERIAL? HellOOOOO???????

both feet on the scale and then the look down. the red numbers flip around as if thinking; anticipating. this machine can smell my fear and it’s not good. this machine knows. it knows that i ate a peanut butter and nutella and banana sandwich at midnite last week. it knows that i haven’t really been eating breakfast. it’s just standing there, blinking, mocking and judging. it is deciding my fate. deciding. MY CELL PHONE IS IN MY POCKET AND SO ARE MY KEYS!!!!! Holy shit! A HEAVY ELECTRONIC DEVICE and MY KEYS- that are made from METAL– one of the heaviest substances on EARTH! i guess they don’t teach you THAT KIND OF STUFF AT NUSE PRACTITIONER SCHOOL! WHAT IN THE HELL IS A NURSE PRACTITIONER ANY GODDAMN WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY???????????

final number pops up. the verdict is in. 259.5. dammit. that’s exactly the same as last week.

oh well. eat a dick, Nurse Practitioner. eat a dick and write that down.

so i go sit on that papered table thing and think about what i want for lunch. and i happen to glance over at the notes the nurse scribbled down for the doctor. it was my height and then underneath, another number. “253.5” what the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK? “253.5”? really MS. NURSE PRACTITIONER? you lied? you wrote down 253.5? what the hell? are you embarrassed for me? does 259.5 make you uncomfortable? think i couldn’t take the truth? was my morbid obesity causing you discomfort? do you have to fill out an extra form because my weight was so high, that you had to fudge it? DOES IT UPSET YOU THAT I’M A HUGE FATTY AND STILL HEALTHY AND YOU PROBABLY LIVE AT THE GYM IN YOUR YOGA PANTS AND FLUORESCENT PINK SPORTS BRA AND NO CARBS!!! i’m FINE WITH MY WEIGHT! JUST FINE! I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I EMBRACE MY WEIGHT! ALL OF TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE OF EM! INCLUDING THAT EXTRA HALF A POUND!!!! YOU ARE THE PROBLEM NURSE PRACTITIONER!!! fat people are just as good as everyone else!!!! FAT PEOPLE ARE HUMANS TOO! or did they not teach you that either??? I WILL NOT BE DENIIIIIIIIIIIIIIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! fuck you, Nurse PRACTITIONER! fuck you very much!!!!!!!!!!!

i walk out of there, all enraged, like you do when people get yer rage all up— and write down “253.5” in my diet journal when i get home, making sure to brag to all my besties how much weight i lost.

Fat On the Outside

Talk about a time when i experienced being on the outside looking in?
that’s simple. every single time i go to the fucking gym. no joke. i’m not trying to be dramatic or cliche, either. it’s just that every time i take my fat to the gym, i become an outsider.

i go to a franchise gym where the slogan is that it’s a ‘JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE’- which is fine and dandy, but when i walk in, in my sweatpants, raggedy hoodie and non-designer sneakers, i get instantly judged, and might as well be put in a caged area for not being a natural born gym goer. to start, i am more than 100 pounds overweight, and although i don’t “LOOK” obese, by medical standards i am. interestingly, i am in better shape than a lot of my skinny friends, and actually can hold my own with a lot of exercise but i definitely don’t look good doing it. now, i know that no one really looks good sweating and getting all red in the face, but, most girls that i see at the gym wear more makeup than i did for my wedding. i’ve seen false eyelashes and glitter, even those glue on crystals– ON A TUESDAY NIGHT in winter. no, i’m not trying to compete, and NO, i’m not trying to pick up a date, i’m trying to drop a few tons, but i absolutely hate feeling like it’s Gym Class in high school- where the fat kids will ALWAYS be picked on, and never fit in.

people stare at me like they are worried that i’m going to have a heart attack, or pitied because my fat is flopping around. i know people will deny it, or ultimately say, “who cares? fuck em!” and all of that, but the truth is, it is a completely uncomfortable situation- from the moment i walk in, until i walk out. i am uncomfortable getting on machines and i am uncomfortable about getting off of them. i am nervous to use the weights and self conscious about using the other equipment. i rarely push myself, because i don’t like the looks i get; some that simply say, “gross” and “why are you bothering?’ and others are thinking “god, if i ever look like that, shoot me.”

and this doesn’t just happen at the gym, it’s just very obvious there. it happens everywhere. being ‘FIT’ or ‘IN SHAPE’ is as much a clique as being popular in high school. when i’m walking around the trails at the park, or roller skating, summers of softball, i feel excluded and not a part of what others are doing. Even the other day at the ski resort, i didn’t dare ski, because i hate not being able to fit in with people that are flexible and stronger, or even have better gear (i wore jeans, hoodie and some boots that i got from the thrift store that are in desperate need of another coating of waterproofing spray). i’m slower, less coordinated and not as resilient as everyone else, so it’s easier just sitting out and watching. it really sucks. the worst part is that my brain doesn’t understand that it can’t always do the same things that the thinner people, which makes things worse because i want to be out there skating and skiing, and even trying that scary cage-y bar lift-y machine.

i keep going to the gym and trying to be as active as i can, with the hope that i won’t be so big someday, won’t be so clumsy and ungainly and eventually won’t feel like i’m on the outside anymore. i know that there’ll always be the gym elite, the pretty ones, that wear expensive designer breast cancer-awareness pink sports bras, yoga pants that they bought from a speciality store online, and shoes made just for going to the gym that cost as much as my car. i’m not trying to compete, i’m really not, but, someday i would like to not feel excluded from something that most people take for granted.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/daily-prompt-outside-2/