F in FAT means PH to me


TW: Weight, mental health, rape…let’s just say it’s not a super cheery post.

I have struggled with body image my whole life. My mother suffers from clinical depression and anorexia nervosa, which didn’t make life easy for a girl who hit puberty at eleven. Yup, I was the kid in primary school with boobs and hips. It’s amazing how cruel kids are about such things, and how much OLDER male attention you get. Anyway, with early onset puberty, a mother who projected her neuroses about food and weight onto me, and media onslaughts about beauty standards, it’s fair to say that body image is something that affected and bothered me deeply. So when I left high school at fifteen, I was deeply insecure about my weight and how I looked. Then (sorry to throw this in like this, I have no idea how else to say it; TW) I got raped and tortured, by one of my close male friends who I trusted. Aside from the HUGE psychological problems this created, it left me with deeply scarred thighs. Massive scars, all over my thighs, crossing each other and that ten years later are still very noticeable.

Side note; if you see scar tissue like the scars I have, PLEASE don’t make a shocked exclamation or ask how the person got them. Chances are the answer will be painful for you both.

But over the next five or so years, I grew to accept my body, flaws and all. I never cared about my weight, I would wear whatever I wanted without caring. Then came pregnancy. It is a huge body changing experience, and I gained a large amount of weight. And had weekly weigh ins. So I KNEW I was gaining weight. All that fucked up learnt behavior regarding my weight just reared its ugly head again. I’m slowly beginning to accept that I will never have the body I had pre pregnancy. But I have bad days, and I still don’t know who I am.

And now we get to the point of this background. The other day I went into the City Designers Market on High Street. I was browsing the clothes, while being ignored by the trio of bitches in the corner. Then one of them acknowledged my existence with a sneering look, up and down my body pointedly, and claimed “We don’t stock clothes in big enough sizes for you”. I was shocked. Totally thrown. And as opposed to telling them where to go had they said that to anyone else, I just walked out. And went back into that “you’re a fat bastard” place. Aside from their statement being entirely untrue, coming from a stupid bitch (which she later defended to a friend of mine, trying to claim that it was either true they didn’t stock clothes in my size, or that I was a liar), it just made me feel stupid and worthless. And still does.

I know it has been asked before, but why are “fat” people seen as lesser people? I know there are so many reasons one can be overweight, and all(most?) of them are valid. And why does my feelings about something as trivial as my weight affect me so much? I KNOW I’m not too overweight. My weight doesn’t affect my physical health. But it matters. Damned if I know why.

This, on the other hand, makes me smile.


2 responses »

  1. Darling! You are gorgeous as you are, outside and in. I love your curly red hair and cheeky grin, and those little skirts you wear that shows off your curves. I love your tattoos even I don’t understand them, and the jewellery you wear, never one of the sheeple.

    And I will boycott CDM in spirit if not in reality, because honestly I don’t have enough money to buy anything from there anyway. *spits on cracker to seal the deal (this is a Karangahape Hamster Den Approved Method)*

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