From birth, I've been overweight. I weighed more than both my older brother and sister. It was only a prelude of things to come.
I remember, as far back as kindergarten, children taunting me. "Fatty, fatty two by four, can't get through the bathroom door." When I was in grade school, there were no plus size clothing stores. Most of the clothes I wore were either made by my mom or they were adult clothes altered to fit me. Not many first graders wore houndstooth slacks and matching jacket for show and tell. But not only was I fat, I also had a severe speech impediment. That's not exactly a winning combination to attract friends. So this lonely little girl found friendship in the only constant in her life: that which was within the four walls of the refrigerator.
Sadly, school was not the only place where I suffered torment because of my weight. My father's parents were so dysfunctional that he developed this distorted dream of the ideal family. Picture-perfect if you will. A fat little kid did not fit into the scheme of things. He chose the "if I make her feel like crap and embarrass her in front of others, she'll get mad and do something about it" method. Yeah, I did something. Once again, I found solace in the thing that drove a wedge between my father and I.
Adulthood brought about a less obvious bigotry. Children see only the difference in how a fat person looks. Adults see only the stereotype. If you're fat, you're slovenly; you care nothing about personal appearance or hygiene. They think your only concern is from where and when your next meal comes. As if a ham sandwich brings about an euphoric state of bliss. They see someone whose extracurricular activities are the one's that advertise "Lunch will be included." They just don't see the real you.
There are several things about food that these people don't see. First of all, food is always there for you. You can always find food somewhere. It doesn't get going when the going gets tough. When you do something stupid, like miss a grounder in a softball game, a Twinkie doesn't snatch you up by your jersey and scream at you in front of teams and spectators, "Why didn't you stop that ball?" Food doesn't talk back to you and say things you don't want to hear. Things about ill-fitted clothing or having to pay extra for a seat on a airplane because you're carrying "extra luggage." Food always, well almost always, agrees with you. It truly provides a comfort that most people can't.
Of course there are drawbacks, but none so detrimental to a person that you're forced to go in rehab, standup and say, "Hi, I'm Rebecca. And I'm a lard-ass."
"Hi, Rebecca!" all the other wideloads, fatbutts, and tubbos reply gleefully.
You get arthritis by the time you're forty? Who wants to walk anyway? And eyesight, it's very overrated. Go ahead and get diabetes and lose your sight to glaucoma. Shove another package of cookies down your throat because you've got a problem.
And every time you don't get a job, you'll question; is it because I'm fat? When the little girl down the street doesn't invite you to her birthday party; is it because I'm fat? No one asks you to your senior prom and you go by yourself; is it because I'm fat? People at an all-you-can-eat buffet, point and snicker behind their hands when you get in line; is it because I'm fat? The guy you so desperately want to share just one night with, seems not to return your feelings; is it because I'm fat?
You suddenly realize that you don't like yourself very much; is it because I'm fat?
Previous essay
Table of Contents