When I was coming out of the gym today, feeling great because, you know, I was coming out of the gym, there were two wee thugs (if you’re Scottish or have ever been in Scotland, you’ll know the kind of boys I’m talking about. They kick footballs at each other or at walls/cars/houses all day and think they’re tough. Their parents seem to have left them in front of the television for the entirety of their childhood for either Big Brother or Playstations/Xboxes or handheld consoles of varying descriptions to raise them instead of doing the job themselves.) out front, kicking a football between them.
I’d called Dad when I was inside, and, as I said, I was feeling great, because the weather was fabulous outside; I didn’t even have to wear my coat (read: I do not wear “coats”. I wear a variety of hooded cardigans. Do not, ever, class me as a “hoody”, however.) and there’s a wee wall in the car park where I sit to both cool down and sip my water.
As I was walking towards the wall, I heard one of the boys snort, and I thought to myself, “Oh great, here it comes.”
I wasn’t left disappointed.
“Don’t sit down,” the little thug said, “you might break the wall!”
They both broke out in guffaws.
I’m not sure if I ever mentioned it here, but there were a couple of nasty little boys in Ireland who once walked past me in Ireland while I was walking to work and said, “Jesus Christ, look at the size of that!”
Not, “[…] the size of her,” but “[…] the size of that,” like my size automatically disqualified me from being human.
I actually took to (tongue-in-cheek-ly) asking my family, “Why am I Jesus?” because the sentence always started, “Jesus Christ […]” like they were addressing me as Jesus. I drew this on my little sister, Lorna’s, Facebook Graffiti page, once:
Lorna, why am I Jesus?
So, today’s “insult” isn’t exactly the first time I’ve ever been insulted. Far from. It’s the first time in a long time – first time in about two years or so that anybody’s made nasty comments about my weight.
It just makes me wonder:
Why do people think that it’s okay to say things like this to people who are overweight? We’re still people. We still have feelings. Just because we (I am assuming) get more insults hurled at us than our skinny counterparts doesn’t mean we take it easier, doesn’t mean it makes it hurt less because it happens to us more often.
Let me tell you, you little thugs, you little heartless, thoughtless wretches: it hurts just as much.
There was a reason that I was up at Fairhill today. I was up at Fairhill today to go to the gym to try to change the fact that I am really, really fucking fat. If it had been a year or two down the line, and I had lost 200+ lbs, if I had been a size 10 but had previously been a 30/32 and you had never known about it, you would have never thought twice about telling me that I’d break the wall.
So why do it now?
I can’t even think about starting to rant, because it really does grate on my nerves. When I was in high school, I had convinced myself that people were constantly talking about me behind my back, and they probably weren’t.
When it happens like this, when it happens to your face, it’s like taking those years of oh my God everybody’s talking about me behind my back and sort of… validating it. Because now, they’re not talking about me behind my back.
Now they’re doing it to my face. Now I can hear what they’re saying.
And yeah, it really fucking hurts, even if it comes from a little 10-year-old boy who doesn’t know me from Adam.
Or Jesus, as the case may be.Let's get social: