March 18

My junior year in college, I started hanging out with this guy named Redacted. Redacted was an all american boy; Tall, dirty blond hair, blue eyes and a former fatty to boot. One day I asked him to go to watch The First Avenger with me because I wanted to be there opening night and Ariel wanted to make out with her boyfriend. I never got a response. Ended up going with another friend, Bryan. Bryan, who was also friends with Redacted told me that Redacted didn’t want to come because it sounded like I was asking him on a date. He also said that Redacted couldn’t date a fat person.
“They’re too clingy and he just doesn’t want to be bothered.” The only reason I know what happened during that movie is because I now own it. Since then, I have always been conscious of my weight, cognizant of the fact that the extra pounds that I carry around might be hindering my chances at a real and meaningful relationship. Doesn’t mean I stop trying. Oh, Lord have I tried. But every time it doesn’t work out I have to think if it was simply a lack of compatibility or if it actually has something to do with the way I look. Add to that and entire immediate family that is “normal sized” who can’t understand why you won’t just stop eating and hit the gym and drink more water and just look and be normal… I don’t just let people influence my mood easily. So when this exchange happens:
I’m not upset. Not even a little bit. But I do make a stop by the local bodega and get myself a mini homemade pecan pie and a quart of ice cream. When I forget to pick up my dry cleaning for work, so for one day I am forced to wear a too tight ankara dress that my mother thought I would lose weight to fit in, it doesn’t phase me. And when Darth Susan in the flesh, Kayley, makes a comment about me being the “office ethnic”, only a little fire lights up in me, prompting me to post a story about a Klansmen being verbally eviscerated by BLM members on a panel using her tag. And when my mother sense weakness all the way from Texas and decides to remind me of how skinny I was in elementary and middle school, I may have cried a little in the shower, but overall, I just buy ingredients to make hot wings and baked beans. Because while all of that isn’t necessarily upsetting, it is tiring. Like, bone breakingly exhausting. And only my therapist knows just how exhausting it feels. Heaven on high forbid you air out your grievances to anyone, though.
“You’re overreacting.”
“You’re too sensitive.”
“I’m only trying to help!”
“I don’t see what the big deal.” Then, there is my all time favorite.
“If it bothers you so much, then just (do the activity that they have been berating you about for however long) then I will leave you alone.”
Pro-tip about that statement, friends; that shit never works. If you do it, they will complain that you didn’t do it their way. If you follow the instructions to the letter, they will find something else to pick at. No one is ever satisfied with what you do. If it was at all possible, people would consume the souls of the weak until they are nothing but an empty shell. Then, when they choose to end their life, it becomes the victim’s fault.
“Why didn’t they just say anything?” Humans, by nature, are vultures and I’m just so tired of the lot of them.

I’m sorry for getting all dark and ranty on you folks, but… as previously stated, I am tired of the world as a whole. So, to boost my mood, I’m gonna make a promise to you all.
I am going to go to yoga and cross fit. I am going to talk to my therapist. I am going to make comfort food. I am going to put my phone on airplane mode and I am going to watch a shit ton of Netflix because I refuse to let a few shitty people put me in a dour mood. And you shouldn’t either. So, if you need someone to talk to, I am hear. My only advice might be to punch them in the nose or just eat your weight in ice cream. But I will always, ALWAYS be a willing ear.

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