The Standard Disclaimer applies here. Hopefully, there is nothing triggering here, but just to make sure…

The following entry deals with health, dieting, and me swearing lots about bullshitty bullshit. Also a bit about religion here and there. If you know that you’ll be negatively affected by anything in this entry, please, don’t read it. If you do read it, please know that I cannot and do not claim responsibility for any action you do or do not take after reading this entry, nor do I assume such responsibility.

This post miiight get a little offensive. Maybe. In which I rant about how the push for weight loss and magical thinking.

I am somewhat reminded of Bonsai Kittens (nothing trigger-worthy here, I hope, but just in case…) when I think of the lectures admonishing me to lose weight or else I’ll wake up THE FATTEST PERSON EVARRRRR.

Four Points:

One, there’d be nothing wrong me if I were the Fattest Person Imaginable, though if I did wake up many, many pounds larger I would get thee to the nearest hospital because something broke really, really hard.

Two, can that even happen? Can someone wake up two, three years later and gain like a hundred-plus pounds barring an actual medical condition? Because that’s an actual story my mom told me as a threat to “get into shape”, which seems to mean “thin” half the friggin’ time.

Three, am I expected to be the same size I was in the eighth grade?

Four, What the Fuck? I…have nothing to add to this statement.

That makes me wonder about whether people, women in particular, are supposed to stay the same size that they were in junior high school, then try to keep it up forever. Frankly, the “overexercising and being just over the edge of the cliff of suicide” method of health is not the one I want to go back to. I’m not the size I was in the eighth grade. Hell, I’m not the size I was when I nineteen, though the size I was at nineteen is closer to the size I am now than my size at fourteen. At the same time, I feel a lot better, physically and mentally, than I ever did when I was fourteen. I don’t know if that’s age or the realization that I don’t have to let my body size or my weight prohibit me from doing what it is I want to do, even if it is hanging out on the internet blogging to about five people.

I also wonder if today’s thinking of weight and body size operates on magic. There, I said it. It operates on magic. Fat-zapping pills and foul-tasting juices to cleanse the toxins (what a delightfully vague term that is, but this isn’t the blog about my issues with people selling snake oil) are no different from other types of magic potions. The fear of fat is not much different from the fear of a curse that’ll wither the crops and bring storms. It’s this weirdass magical thinking that bestows value on some actions and some things, and bestows some kind of malevolent ability on others. Apples are good (but only if they’re organic!), candy bars are bad. Running for hours on a treadmill counts as For Real Exercise, jogging around the block on a sunny day does not. I have nothing against those who can run on treadmills for hours without injury, nor do I have problems with organic food. Both of these are fine and perfectly valid things to do/things to eat. My problem comes when organic food is trumpeted as a cure-all magic bullet for what ails ya, when it’s not. And full disclosure, I am not in the pocket of any large agriculture company, nor am I in the pocket of Big Pharma. If one blog post that like five or so people read is that important, they have my mailing address. My problem comes when some activity “counts” as exercise while others do not “count”, and the idea that it necessarily must be onerous and unenjoyable to “count”. Same goes with food. Diet food sucks harder than a Dyson, and I don’t know if the motivation is to keep you on the diet or to make you quit it as soon as possible because one can only eat dry chicken breasts and rubbery vegetables for so long until they’re wrapping their lips around a nice, big piece of garlic bread, maybe with some nice, hearty tomato sauce from the plate of pasta. Or, possibly, a Big Mac or a Whopper. Or whatever tickles your taste buds. It’s all part of the Magical Thinking that says that if you have one extra fat cell on your person, you can’t have or do the same things as thin people.

I call Bullshit on that bullshit. Especially when loaded with warnings about friends of friends about The Horrors of a Second Serving.

The Standard Disclaimer applies here. Hopefully, there is nothing triggering here, but just to make sure…

The following entry deals with health, dieting, and stupid shit on TV. If you know that you’ll be negatively affected by anything in this entry, please, don’t read it. If you do read it, please know that I cannot and do not claim responsibility for any action you do or do not take after reading this entry, nor do I assume such responsibility.

So I saw something incredibly awful on Food Network. No, it’s not a bastardization of a recipe to make it “healthy” (which always seems to mean “low fat”), but a straight-up advertisement for a Biggest Loser/Celebrity Fit Club type show called Fat Chef.

I suppose you can understand my displeasure. But I’m not going to stop watching the Food Network as a whole over this.

I’ll just hope that it’s a one-season thing.

Edit: I’ll just put my main issues with weight-loss-themed reality shows and contests out in the open. I sincerely believe in the idea of the right of people to do what they want with their bodies. However, I also think that if the people on these shows sincerely believe that they need help, then the last place they should turn for sound medical advice, or even sympathy, is a fucking reality TV show where they’re marched up in front of all of America and possibly the world like some kind of freak show curiosity to gawk at, laugh at, and insist that they’re not “like that”. This doesn’t even begin to get into how unhealthy the kind of weight loss seen on such a show actually is, no matter how much you weigh.

The Standard Disclaimer applies here. Hopefully, there is nothing triggering here, but just to make sure…

The following entry deals with health, dieting, and me swearing lots about bullshitty bullshit. Also a bit about religion here and there. If you know that you’ll be negatively affected by anything in this entry, please, don’t read it. If you do read it, please know that I cannot and do not claim responsibility for any action you do or do not take after reading this entry, nor do I assume such responsibility.

I have yet another theory. Let’s see if this one makes any sense. I think I wrote this in an essay for school, but many, many people view fatness as the Worst Thing in the World. As in, becoming fat is the Worst Thing That Can Possibly Happen, or being fat is the Worst Thing You Can Possibly Be. A larger body represents all those things that are just horrible–gluttony, ill health, a lower quality of life–even though there is no proof that being fat is necessarily a cause of all the ills of the fucking world.

I hope this comparison doesn’t offend anyone, but I like to compare people who want to turn you on to a new diet to people who want you to convert to their religion (or lack of religion). I said once that I understood both religious and nonreligious folk because I tried to look at it from their perspective. If you really believed that your loved one was doomed to burn forever in a place of eternal torment, it’d be your sworn duty to at least tell them this. And on the non-religious end, if you really believed that your loved one was being had, losing lots and lots of money and possibly their lives, it’d be your sworn duty to at least tell them this.

When I try to view people, that is, those I consider friends, this way, their diet-pushing no longer becomes frustrating as much as sad. Because they truly believe I’m in danger of dying before I’m 30 because of my extra poundage, or getting chronic diseases, or being permanently disabled, they feel the need to ask me to try the Grapefruit Diet/the Cabbage Soup Diet/the Eat Less and Exercise “Diet” (like I haven’t heard or tried this before). This doesn’t make it okay, mind. It’s still fucking annoying and unnecessary. It just means that at least I know where they’re coming from. At least I know that it’s because they really think that the worst thing that can happen to me is gaining five pounds. At least I know that when news reports  use threats of heart disease and diabetes on the public, it’s because the public themselves truly thinks that being fat causes these things, and they’re afraid that it’ll happen to them. Now that I think about it, I wonder how many Type II diabetics there are who are offended by this. I wonder how many there are who are offended or at the very least pissed off at being told that they “did this to themselves” somehow, which is actually a cruel fucking thing to do to anyone.

But I digressed a bit over there. The principle behind unwanted proselytization to one’s religion is the same as the principle behind unwanted diet tips. Few people, at least people like friends or the more likable of the relatives, don’t do it out of malice. They do it because they think they’re helping (when they are really not). Because as long as people are told that being fat is only slightly less awful than being a drug addict, diet tips will flow like wine.

So…yeah.

The Standard Disclaimer applies here. Hopefully, there is nothing triggering here, but just to make sure…

The following entry talks about food, the fear of it, and me ranting about the idea of “good” versus “bad” foods, health, weight loss, and what it means to be an adult. If you know that you’ll be negatively affected by anything in this entry, please, don’t read it. If you do read it, please know that I cannot and do not claim responsibility for any action you do or do not take after reading this entry, nor do I assume such responsibility.

I have a theory in the works. Let’s see if it makes sense. A lot of people who are a fuckton more articulate than I am have observed that dieting is often seen as a rite of passage. And those who fail at it (which is pretty much everybody unless they want to marry their diet, and as I said in the Very First Entry in this series, marriage to one’s diet goes south Pretty Damn Quick) or refuse to take part in this rite, actively or not, are therefore seen as “not really grown-up yet”. As noted here, fat people are either victims or villains and it is the “victim” part that I’ll focus on here. Maybe in another part I’ll focus on the “villain” part of the equation, but again, people who are more articulate than I am have covered that aspect.

So…what I said a paragraph ago, regarding the fact that if one refuses to take part in the weight loss ritual, they’re not seen as grown-up. Be it a doctor or a relative or a stranger, the assumption is that fat people go about their day without knowing they’re fat and that they’re going to drop dead unless they “do something” about it. People who are more knowledgable than I am have covered why a single “excess” bit of adipose tissue does not guarantee an early grave, so I’m going to be succinct (as I never am) and say that no, you can’t die from The Fat.

But, I digress. Fat person as victim…It bothers me. At least when I’m portrayed as a villain I have power. At least when I’m being blamed for the downfall of Decent Society, I’m doing something. Being a victim implies that my fat is something that is happening to me. Something that is inflicted upon me rather than something I just have. Like I have brown eyes, or I have short hair, or I have a slight overbite. The overbite isn’t something being done to me, nor is my fat something that is done to me by anybody. It’s not the fault of the people who make cars, or the food industry, or TV, or the internet. It’s just something I’ve got, and I can either have the best health possible in the body I have now, or make myself sick in every possible way (physically, emotionally, psychologically) in order to change it only temporarily and as soon as I start living like a non-dieting person again, the weight’ll come back and then some, which will wreck me all kinds of ways anyway… The idea of being a victim is probably why I get lectured about my weight in the hopes that I’ll be a good girl and accept self-induced famine and overexercise as a way of life.

And I say nay!

So yeah.

The Standard Disclaimer applies here. Hopefully, there is nothing triggering here, but just to make sure…
This entry deals with doctors, fear, and ranting about weight loss. If you know that you’ll be negatively affected by anything in this entry, please, don’t read it. If you do read it, please know that I cannot and do not claim responsibility for any action you do or do not take after reading this entry, nor do I assume such responsibility.

So I have a doctor’s appointment in less than two weeks, and I have been doing some thinking after my mom lectured me on my weight again. She doesn’t even lecture me on  my religious beliefs, whatever they are at the moment, as much as she does my weight. And this bugs me, because I think this is something that I, an inbetweenie, deal with lots. I wonder if any other people who identify as inbetweenies or smaller-fats deal with the same thing.

I wonder if people on the smaller end of fat are encouraged to lose weight because it’s seen as being “easier” for them. It’s weird and fucking creepy…but I have to wonder if it’s something that many smaller-fats deal with. Like any other misguided attempts to save people from things that are supposedly bad, like fundies who want to save people from themselves, or some people who subscribe to some schools of feminist thought wanting to save women from themselves and in both cases, neither one wants to be rescued and in fact will pitch the wannabe saviors over the side, I have to wonder if the badgering about “lose just ten pounds!” exhortations from well-meaning relatives and friends and advertisers comes from the idea that being fat is the WORST THING EVAR, and that those who are smaller than THE FATTEST PEOPLE IMAGINABLE can be “saved” from their fate.

And if someone doesn’t want to put their body through that, there must be something wrong with them. As I have said in another few entries, I’m recovering from overexercise, a habit I picked up in about the fifth grade. Most weight loss regimens involve some element of calorie restriction, followed by overexercising, and that’s if they don’t involve pills that fuck with your organs in exchange for pounds lost that will inevitably come back once that person stops the pills and starts eating like a normal person (“normal” in the sense of “not like one would on a diet that requires some form of calorie restriction”) again, or surgery in which one’s digestive system is played with like a Hot Wheels track. Because apparently a few pounds lost by two-hundred pound person will make such a huge difference over, say, a few pounds lost by a three-hundred pound person. Well, I say, it does diddly fuck all in both cases, because the weight will eventually come back, plus some, once the diet fucks off or an injury develops from the overexercise.

The one and only area where weight loss can conceivably make my life easier is clothes shopping. But if weight loss is only temporary and the only way to do it permanently is to starve oneself and do that forever, and I hate vomiting or fainting (as I do when I go without food for prolonged amounts of time)…it does diddly fuck, especially since most diets prescribe food that I wouldn’t feed a rat, and diets only work if you want to be married to it, and like all bad marriages, marriage to a diet goes South really fast.

I have nothing against processed foods. Processed foods kick ass. Maybe it’s because I didn’t grow up with issues about that or maybe it’s because I grew up working-class, and working-class folk aren’t in the demographic for organic nosh…

Anyway, the fact that diet foods are processed foods is not my issue. My issue is that they suck dongs through a crazy straw. I’d be better off eating the cardboard box they came out of, in terms of taste. And it is damn hard to get me to try most vegetables, and I fucking hate salad. It’s not that I hate raw green and leafies (that can be eaten raw) or raw tomatoes–I love the fuck out of raw lettuce and spinach and tomatoes–but if you put those things in a bowl and call it a salad, I’m like, “no thanks”. It’s because I’d been made to choke down veggies in an attempt to stave off the Dread Scarlet O for Obesity, and that didn’t work out too well.

But yeah. I have to wonder if the encouragement and admonishment to lose weight for smaller fats is harder to swallow because it comes from a place of “I just want to help”, and because I notice it more now than I did as a teenager, willing to swallow anything that would make me “normal”. I have to wonder if it’s something unique to smaller fats or if everyone on the Wide Spectrum of Fattitude gets this.

And I have to wonder why this is the issue my mother harps on but not, say, the fact that I don’t tell her what I’m stressing about because I think she’ll just act like I shouldn’t care about such things.

The Standard Disclaimer applies. There probably isn’t anything triggering per se, but this entry comes off quite negative regarding Supplements, Complementary and Alternative Medicine, so, watch out for that.

This entry is awesome and you should go forth and read it. It’s about the idea of accountability and how it’s easy to hold business and the Diet Industry accountable for their actions, but how it’s more difficult to hold medical and scientific professionals’ feet to the fire. I said in the previous entry that the current way of seeing health is based on shame and blame.

In that first link, I said in a comment that wasn’t sent to the spam folder (yaaay), that I feel that there are two main reasons why it’s easier to harp on the business’s end of things than it is to harp on the medical profession’s end of things, and both are loosely based on authority. The first reason is that most people don’t know all the medical jargon and are willing to trust the people who dedicated a good quarter to half their lives doing just that. No one wants to think that doctors are all in it for the money, even if there are some who totally are, a lot of them really do want to help people and actually give a damn, or at least people like to think so.

The second reason is that it’s simply easier to blame Big Business for all of society’s ills because like science and medicine, business is also something that most people (including yours truly) don’t understand. Unlike science and medicine, business doesn’t seem to benefit anyone except businesspeople. So it’s easier and probably more fun to vilify business and the people who do it than it is to vilify science and the people who do it. Doctors, after all, are there to help. Except when they don’t. And if they don’t help, then it’s your fault, somehow, someway.

It reminds me all too much of two things: People hawking supplements and alternative medicine treatments, and the people who don’t want to admit the simple fact that Being Sick Sucks.

In the first case, it reminds me of all the Alt. Med. stuff. If  it didn’t work, then it’s your fault for not having enough faith in the herbal mixture/the supplement/the homeopathic solution. I wonder if there’s a connection between the resurgence in Alternative Medicine use, and the idea that health is completely controllable. Right now all I have is correlation–the people most invested in Supplements/Alternative/Complementary Medicine, as patients, seem to be the ones who believe that health isn’t a combination of Wholly Controllable Things, Somewhat Controllable Things, Barely Controllable Things, and Things Far Out Of the Realm of Any Given Individual’s Control, and a liberal sprinkling of Pure Essence of Luck, as much as it is all Wholly Controllable Things–but at least I admit that all I have is correlation, not so much that buying Supplements, Alternative and Complementary Medicine full tilt makes people blame others for the fact that they don’t fit whichever arbitrary metric of “health”, but perhaps that those people who think that health is completely controllable are the ones who buy into Supplementary/Alternative/Complementary medicine, and no I’m not going for the obvious abbreviation/pun/thing….on this entry. As I said a few entries back, aside from the obvious benefits of a healthy diet, the only thing going all organic seems to cure is a chronically swollen wallet, but that’s just my opinion, and alternative medicine is a much more obvious manifestation of people seeking to cure severe, chronic edema of the wallet.

In the second case, it’s hard for people to admit that Being Sick Sucks. It’s a simple fact. Being sick sure does suck. It’s not all…inspirational piano solos/string ensembles/guitar riffs and narrators and jump-cuts. Being sick just plain sucks, and an entirely new category of suckitude is being told that you’re sick when you’re not and/or being told that you’re not sick when you are, but that’s another rant for another time. But being sick sucks, be it on a temporary basis or a more chronic condition. Back to the subject of the suckitude of actually being sick. I think that it is a human thing, not a uniquely American thing, to avoid things that suck (…please to not get me started on a political rant), or at least make the thing that sucks suck a little less, be it in volume or intensity. It’s not lazy, it’s human, and for all the posturing some people about the idea of hardship and hard things as being “learning experiences” (gag me with a silver spoon) and how convenience is the Eighth Deadly Sin, these people would most likely toss their clothes in a washing machine before having to take their clothes down to the nearest, cleanest river. I have it way better than my parents did, and exponentially better than my grandparents did, and even though I don’t think about it often, now that I do, I am grateful, and therefore tilt my head at those who wish to go back to a Good Old Days that never really existed, and go, “Huh-Bah-Wha?”.

But, I digress. Being sick sucks, and we, the human race, want to do something about it. For the more spiritual among us, there is prayer, or some other way of reaching out to whatever god or gods that may listen, asking that they make the illnesses go away in a show of power and mercy. For the less spiritual among us, we rub an ointment on or pop a pill or drink a syrup to ease the symptoms, or to ward away  illness entirely.  And that, my friends, is where my comparison to Alt. Med. and faith healing actually makes sense. At least with faith healing, it is obvious that it is an act, although there might be something to the idea that prayer aids in the healing process (I think it has less to do with power and more to do with my belief that prayer is a form of meditation, and meditation brings down stress, and stress is never good for recovering from anything…but that is because I have no proof for or against the existence of any god or gods, but that is a rant that is not for this blog), I don’t know.  But at least with faith healing, those who see themselves as being “above” religion see the flashy shows of televangelists for the farce that it is, and at least people can get angry at them for demanding exorbitant amounts of money for a vial of oil or a piece of cloth said to be blessed by the Man of God himself, but doubt the power of Alternative Medicine and suddenly you are a shill for Big Pharma (if this were true, I wouldn’t be going to school). I’m not in the position to criticize the proponents of alt. med. for embracing any old nonsense as long as it is old. Much like how teachers will assign dull books because they are old and are therefore “classic”. Because I am simply not prepared to do so. Instead, I will point out how ironic it is that the same people who are “above” religion are the ones who cling to things like chiropractic and homeopathy, even if the evidence for things like that are even more nonexistent than the evidence of a supreme being.

There it was, my long, little, rant. Have a nice day and please leave your flaming bags of crap in the Flaming Bags of Crap Pile to your left, and have a nice day.

~Ciao~

The Standard Disclaimer applies. There is talk about dieting and health and me ranting about the current culture around health. Also, let it be said that I believe that, in the end, what people do for their health is their decision, and should be such. It shouldn’t be determined by some lone blogger writing for nobody in particular on the internets, nor should it be pushed by celebrity doctors or well-meaning relatives. In the end, I believe that what some particular person does for their particular body is the decision of that person and them alone.

As my doctor’s appointment draws closer, I get more and more nervous. Why? I don’t know if I should decline being weighed, if only so that I can get my medical issues, if any, treated, as opposed to being given pamphlets for Weight Watchers.

This bothers me for a bunch of different reasons, one of which is the fact that even if diets tend to epically fail people (yes, diets fail people, people do not fail diets), it’s reccommended anyway. And another reason is the fact that the current idea of health is based entirely on shame and blame. And formulas. Lots of formulas.

As if following this formula or that formula will give you perfect health and an added ten years of life. Too bad those ten years are tacked to the wrong end. And eternal life would just suck if you think about it hard enough.

What I mean by the current idea of health being based on shame and blame is that…the idea that health has nothing to do with the Luck of the Draw (“luck” meaning “things that can’t be controlled or can only be controlled barely. Things like genetics, socioeconomic status, and yes, Just Plain Dumb Luck) and everything to do with self-determination goes hand-in-hand with this…thing for Alternative Medicine. I am of the opinion that Alt. Med. is the secular version of faith healing; the same people who will make fun of religious folk will cling to their favorite herbal remedy, but…..that’s another entry, maybe even for Jordi the Mighty. And I see this with the idea of Healthy Eating and Exercise being treated, not as things that have benefits unto themselves, but as a panacea against all disease. It…bothers me when people treat fat as a disease for this exact reason. It’s correlation. It’s like…prescribing that everyone wear green hats because people with green hats get fewer headaches, or something like that. So that’s my major gripe with “lifestyle medicine” and “wellness medicine”. That it pathologizes things and behaviors that aren’t “approved”, and forces doctors to play babysitter. That “right” and “wrong” are divided into “health” and “unhealth”, and those who have “unhealth” Must Be Shown! The Error! Of their Waaays!!! It…makes me cringe. I have this weird streak in me that says “NO! No one is allowed to interfere with my life under the pretense of helping me!”. I guess it comes from years and years in a religious system that did exactly that–prescribed a lifestyle I was meant to live in order to live forever and be happy. Except that made me so miserable that I considered killing myself at the age of eleven, and was drafting sermons and suicide notes often in the same notebook. And I am not kidding.

And now there is a culture that does this with health. Which is a rather callous way of dealing with people. When an illness or disease is made into someone’s “fault”, it becomes acceptable to make that person or group of people a target. And when something like fat is coded as disease or illness, it becomes okay to target fat persons. And if being fat is a disease state, then treatment is needed. And if being fat is something that needs to be treated, and right the hell now, then it becomes okay to target fat people, specifically, fat children, for treatments and (non-)solutions that would easily be considered unconscionable if done to anyone else ever.

I knew there was a reason why Alternative and Complementary Medicine left such an awful taste in my mouth, but…probably another entry on this.

As for the formulas thing, that’s pretty obvious. There are a batrillion diet plans out there, all with some variation of low-fat/low-carb/high-fiber/high-micronutrient count/calorie-counting combination, all of them claiming to be the One True Way that will lead to permanent weight loss and your (general “you”) key to the kingdom of Thin and Happiness. Except the formula falls apart for some reason, but diets are made solely to fail so that you try the next Formula, hoping that this one will succeed, on and on, into infinity. In fact, the reliance on formulas is why I don’t diet anymore. The reliance on formulas reminds me far too much of my Pentecostal past of trying to do something to fix things.

That is a path that I wish not to walk again.

So, to your health, and yours, and yours, and yours, and even yours way in the back, and mine, no matter what life throws our way.

The Standard Disclaimer is in effect, due to the fact that I discuss exercise and the overdoing thereof. Also, food. And weight loss, and the temptation to do, and eating disorders.

I already said in Part 1 that I’d be the archetypal Bad Fattie if not for the fact that I liked fruits and most vegetables, and actually enjoyed exercise. As for the enjoyment of exercise, this was not always the case.

In fifth grade I was introduced to team sports, and the hardcore training that went with it. It was hard as fuck, but I had friends on the team and this was back in the days before parents punching coaches out and the uber-competition, but gym class was still bullshit even if the gym teacher tried really hard not to fall into the “if you’re not a natural athlete, you’re wasting my time but hey it’s a paycheck” trap. This was more than I can say for any prior gym teachers.
In junior high, I took health class. Which was pretty much a crash course in how to completely fuck up an entire class’s relationship to food. Or fuck it up even more if it was already fucked up.

I tend to think that I’m not eating disordered. Not because I’m fat, but because I don’t have the fear of food that other people who are recovering from eating disorders have reported. I don’t have that, aside from an aversion to collard greens. I mentioned in Part One of this rant about “normal” and the price I’d have to pay to get there that I keep a yoga mat next to my computer desk.I don’t think I have an eating disorder, and for the longest time, I never thought that I did, again, not because I was fat, but because I have no fear of cupcakes or non-organic produce. However, what I did end up graduating from high school with was an almost fanatical obsession with exercise. Because I actually like food and dieting didn’t pan out when I tried it, I instead turned to exercise. A lot of it. Even when it hurt. A lot. This is due to the fact that I fell into the fallacy of “if some exercise is good, then a lot of it would be better“.

And then I ended up not particularly liking any exercise but still feeling compelled to do it. Because if I just did enough I could make up the difference. Because that was the deal I made with myself. That was my Deal with the Devil. I could eat all I wanted as long as I did something to make up for it. And that something was exercise. Oh, I would try, on-and-off, to restrict my food intake, but that would be a big bust and I’d eat more and guiltily sweat off the difference. And I am apparently not alone in this particular way of thinking.

It’s a hard habit to break, and it is difficult to deal with because it didn’t wholly destroy my love of movement. That fact alone makes it harder to stop thinking like that.  I still have issues with it, both because I like exercise (except the treadmill. Treadmills and I have a troubled history that I will cover in another entry) and because exercise is actually genuinely good for you in the way that calorie restriction has been proven over and over again not to be. I still fall into that trap and I occasionally find myself walking (and sometimes running) laps around the school or around the block after eating a burger and going “why the fuck am I doing this again?”. Am I doing it because I like walking (which I do), or because I’m doing it to soothe my guilty conscience? Is it a Hafta or a Wanna? I find more and more that while, at least most of the time, I exercise because I want to, there are times when I feel like I have to, and the result is that I quit midway through because I don’t want to, but I know I have to.  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I have to wonder what it would mean for me to be normal. If it means doing that forever…I don’t want it. If it means exercising until I hated it, and then eating things I hate and even things I like until I hate them, I don’t know if any reward I may get from doing this will be worth the price. Fuck, I have to wonder if weight loss in and of itself is anything like a reward to begin with. Is it really a worthy pursuit if you have to suffer for it? It took a while but I’m realizing that the whole idea of suffering for beauty is bullshit. If it’s something you have to suffer for, it’s not worth obtaining.

I’m starting to feel that way about (the very, very narrow definition of) health as well. Even if hating myself did make me go down a few sizes, it probably wouldn’t make me feel happier, and probably not healthier since I’ll have exactly zero motivation to do all those healthy-like things either because I’ve gotten what I think I want (the Golden Ticket into Acceptability, either by actually getting thinner or Trying Really Really Hard to Change), or because it’s so soul-crushing to attempt to get the damn Ticket and I’ve bought all the candy bars and thrown them away in search of it that it’s become moot.

Is “Normal” worth how much it’d cost? I’d say “no the fuck way”.

The Standard Disclaimer is in effect, for talk about weight loss and exercise and bullying…. and me busting out the semi-obscure literary quotes.

I love how any class on the Endocrine system becomes a forum for diet tips and flogging the weight loss horse back to death. And by “love” I mean “I would walk out of the room if I was the type”. But still, today, I took a stand against the idea that Type 2 Diabetes is an affliction meant to punish people for a life not spent pursuing a terribly narrow vision of health. For slightly more articulate, less profanity-laced thoughts on the subject, read this post on how diabetics, specifically those with Type 2 Diabetes, are demonized and treated like they “brought it on themselves”.

I’m fairly new to Fat Acceptance and new to Fat Acceptance Blogging, sort of. I covered these issues on Jordi the Mighty before creating this blog, which is specifically for my thoughts on fat, being the face of the Obesity Crisis (onoes!) despite being only Technically Fat (according to the prima ballerina of all irrelevancies, the BMI), how I view the world with my newfound Fat Acceptance Goggles, and my commentary on the random bullshit that I now notice thanks to those goggles…and now that I notice, that would make one hell of an unfortunate acronym.

Despite my introversion I occasionally want to climb the rafters and shout from the rooftops, “IT’S OKAY TO BE THE SIZE THAT YOU ARE! YOU DON’T HAVE TO CHANGE!” I feel that way about lots of things other than fat, ranging from belief or nonbelief in religion, even to hobbies and interests.

Also, I might not be the best voice for the whole FA community, if one person really could be the voice for a whole entire movement. I do not know if I’m even doing it right, since I am one of those people who thinks that it’s okay to be whatever size you are, without sticking a bunch of caveats and qualifiers at the end. I sincerely believe that Fat Acceptance is for everyone, not just people participating in “good” behaviors. Not that there’s anything wrong with a balanced diet and physical activity. There’s a hell of a lot to be said of moving around and eating a wide variety of foods. However, I am one of those people. I am one of those people you see at fast food restaurants and I actually, actively dislike certain vegetables (asparagus and collard greens, the latter of which because I was made to choke so many down coming up…). I love all manner of “sinful” sweets and all those treats that are delicious but will surely consign me to Hell.
I loathe many of the exercises which “count” as such, I haven’t been to a gym since I first started college at 18, and am likely one of the least athletic people alive. That is, I don’t enjoy sports, and I suck at them. I much prefer surfing the internet or reading a book, and when I do exercise, I prefer things that do not “count”. Like dance or walking. Or bike riding, once I get a bike that is in riding shape. Fuck, I even have a yoga mat next to my computer desk at home. Mostly because if I don’t get some form of movement I get antsy (despite having had problems in my youth with overexercising, which will be covered in Part II). Furthermore, while I think that it’s awesome to eat organic, whole foods and stuff like that, and there may even be some benefit, I also think that those who push organic food as a panacea for all “modern” ills are bullshitting people, and the only thing they seek to cure is a severe, chronic edema of the wallet/pocketbook/purse/whatever you carry money in.

In other words, if not for my love of fruit and the many other varieties of veg out there and the fact that I like some form of movement, I would be the archetypal Bad Fatty. And yet, even if I didn’t have those things to fall back on, I still would not deserve ridicule, hatred, or being the target of Vague Future Health Threats.

Now that the appetizer is done, time for the main course!

So I wonder what would happen if I tried to be “normal”. One of the things I hear often as a smaller fat person is that I could be normal if I tried harder. I hear this in a great deal of contexts, actually, but to keep us on topic, I shall focus on weight. I am sure that if I “tried harder” and dieted, I would get to a smaller size and join the ranks of “normal”. If I “tried harder” and at least pretended that talks about various diets and complaining about how “bad” I’ve been and congratulating myself for how “good” I’ve been and all the stuff that goes along with dieting, yes. I would fit in and indeed get to be “normal”. Even if I fail epically at dieting and even if I gain all the weight back and then some (which is very, very likely), I will, at least by virtue of “doing something”, join the ranks of Normal, and find a place to belong. However, and this is a huge however, what does this mean for me? It means that I may have acceptance from my classmates and from family and from society as a whole, but since dieting doesn’t do squat for all the things it supposedly fixes (health, appearance, self-worth), what would I be left with but the hollow realization that I have given in. That’s right. I have told other people that trying to change yourself to prevent being treated like shit doesn’t do shit but makes you feel like shit. That changing for bullies means that the bullies win and that you lose. If I did throw myself, full-swing, back onto the carousel of dieting, I would gain acceptance but lose myself.

So I wonder:

Can I Pay the Price of Normal?

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This is all a rough, rough, rambly entry. Part II will be shorter, I promise.

*You win fifty Internets if you get this reference.

While the Content Advisory applies here, this post is about clothes, so…yeah.

For the last…decade, or so, I have not been a skirt/dress type of person. Ever since I was about fourteen or so, I had figured that the cute little miniskirts were for people much cuter and smaller than I was, so I said “fuck it” and went about in extra-wide-leg jeans (ah, my favorite pair, I shall miss thee) or sweatpants, and random t-shirts of varying kinds.

Now that several skirts and a few dresses have come into my possession, the million-dollar question is how do I wear this shit? Aside from the obvious “on my body” answer, what I’m really asking is how do I not suck at wearing this shit?. Because the last time I have worn a skirt of my own volition was in the eighth grade, I have no idea how to wear a skirt anymore. As in, how to wear it for different occasions–a school function or a job interview is massively different from, say, a picnic in the park or something much less formal than that–and stuff like that.

Any advice?