Fat Friday: Finding Balance

 

Image by GraphicMama-team from Pixabay

Balance is one of those things that I struggle with. I tend to have an all-or-nothing approach to pretty much, well, everything. It is deeply ingrained for me to criticize myself harshly regarding my imbalanced nature. I need to stop and remind myself that I am just now learning certain things that I should have learned a long time ago.

I am going to discuss physical exercise, which is a bone of contention for many of us because we have been scolded for not working out well enough, hard enough, long enough, or for not having achieved significant weight loss through exercise. While you are welcome to share your own experiences, I will not tolerate pro-weight loss commentary or body shaming. 

It is fine to mention that your parents, gym coach, personal trainer, or such body-shamed you and this led to an obsession with weight. It is not okay to say "yes, but if you just adhere to the Nuts and Bolts Lemonade Cleanse Cabbage Soup Diet while working out for six hours a day, you too could lose your unsightly fat!" Fuck right off with that shit. Also, saying things like, "well, it's fine as long as you're not THAT fat. If you weigh X pounds, that's okay. But if you weigh more than X pounds, that's unhealthy, teh obeeeeesiteee, blah blah blah," yeah yeah yeah, heard it all before. Fuck off with that shit too.

All the above shit does is sabotage any desire to exercise or engage in eating a nutritious, balanced diet. When I say "diet," I don't mean dieting for weight loss, I simply mean the food one eats. There is only one diet that I endorse, and that's the Fuck It Diet. I'll put a link at the end of the post.

I'm actually fairly careful with my diet because I'm diabetic. I'm not able to be as careful as I'd like to be because most of my food comes from the food bank. I would prefer to eat more vegetables, but I'm working with what I have. I am not better than someone who isn't in a place where they're able to eat a balanced diet or someone who is struggling with an eating disorder. I am not a lesser person than someone who can eat a perfectly satiating plant-based diet. I'd probably have to hire a chef to make that happen, and if I'm having to get my food from the food bank, hiring a chef isn't high on my list of things to do right now.

I have difficulty coming to grips with exercise. It isn't that I don't like to exercise, but I'm no longer able to do many of the things that I used to do. I also have that shitty voice in my head that tells me if I'm not able to run like a racehorse for miles while interspersing jumping jacks and other high-octane maneuvers and then lifting weights for an hour, well, what the fuck am I even doing? 

This kind of all-or-nothing thinking is toxic and leads people to stop exercising.

Diet culture fucking sucks. One of my missions in this life is to keep pointing that out until people finally start getting it. 

Eating "too much junk food" does NOT cause a person to develop diabetes. Being "too fat" does not cause a person to develop diabetes. The only thing that causes diabetes is having a genetic vulnerability to diabetes. It is likely that I would have developed diabetes eventually even if I ate the perfect diet and was the so-called "perfect" weight for my height. The rest of my endocrine system is a trash fire, so it was coming. However, I might have been able to stave it off for a few more years if I hadn't been in a constant state of food insecurity, because of poverty and self-inflicted food shortage, aka dieting. 

Dieting changes a person's body but not in the ways that the multi-billion dollar diet industry tells us. It fucks our metabolism. Eventually, the chronic dieter can no longer lose weight even when they adhere to an extremely restrictive plan.

I have my abusive life partner ED (Eating Disorder) under wraps most of the time, so we're not going to discuss him right now. Instead, I'm going to concentrate on discussing my struggles with exercise. 

In the early 90s following a difficult pregnancy and emergency c-section, while at the same time having severe food poisoning (campylobacter,) my body was torn up, and I was physically weak. I was ashamed of the way I looked and ashamed that I couldn't even push the pedals on the exercise bike hard enough to keep the display screen on. I enrolled at 24 Hour Fitness. 

Instead of suggesting that I concentrate on rebuilding my strength and endurance and advising me not to worry about the number on the scale, the focus was all on getting me back to my pre-pregnancy body. 

Stepping back in time for a moment, when I was taken to the OR to undergo an emergency c-section, the technician or nurse comforted me with the knowledge that I would be able to wear a bikini again because I would receive a horizontal incision. Even as obsessed with my appearance as I was at 25, I found this ludicrous. I couldn't have given a fuck less about being able to wear a bikini again. My child and I were going to die if he wasn't born, stat. 

Even in that horrible moment, the sexist attitudes that make prioritizing the idea of being able to wear a fucking bikini again during an obstetric emergency even a remote possibility enraged me. Above all else, women are to be pleasing to the male gaze. Is any woman who doesn't measure up to the Photoshopped and pornified standards of men's magazines even a woman?

Forward to today. I am struggling with the extremist attitudes that have been ingrained in my brain regarding exercise. Once I am finally able to make myself do a little workout, it's so psychologically taxing that I avoid it until I can psych or shame myself into doing it again. 

I know that it is important for people with ADHD to develop a schedule, so I "should" just schedule a certain time of day when I work out, right? Why not right after I get up and take my meds?

Not so fast, Sunshine. It's not quite that easy. I can't eat for a minimum of a half-hour after taking my thyroid medicine. 

Well, couldn't I just work out on an empty stomach?

Not if I don't want to risk tanking my blood sugar. I don't enjoy having to re-regulate things when my blood sugar is too high or in the toilet. The last time my blood sugar crashed I literally thought that I was on my way out and I was too drained to give a fuck. I forced myself to eat the world's most uninspiring sandwich and a packet of Bel-Vita breakfast biscuits and I didn't even inject any insulin. When I got home, I measured my blood sugar, and it was only 134. That's how depleted I'd been. So no, exercising on an empty stomach isn't an option.

Well, why not exercise right after breakfast?

Because I need to let the food digest a bit. Have you ever exercised right after a meal? Blergh. 

Okay, well, wait an hour and then exercise.

This is a good idea. The problem is, I'm usually into a project by then and don't want to lose my hot streak. Plus, I'm fighting the voice in my head that tells me if I can't be EXTREME, then what is even the sense?

I have to start low and slow. I have to give myself permission to realize that even five minutes is a triumph. Yes, I used to spend five hours a day at the gym on days that I didn't have to work. I'm not exaggerating. That's called orthorexia, and it isn't a good thing. I missed chunks of my son's early childhood because of it, and people still considered me "too fat." 

Body dysmorphia and all-or-nothing attitudes are something that I will have to combat for the rest of my life. I have mostly accepted the reality that I will always be heavy unless I become terminally ill the way my great-grandmother did. Since I still have plenty of damage to do, I'd prefer that not happen anytime soon, so the size-shamers can just kiss my fat ass. There's work to be done. 

Spirit of the Universe, please help me keep fighting my negative programming and society's hateful attitudes towards larger people. Please help me remember that my worth is not tied to a number on a scale and that good health, while desirable, is not a measure of personal value. Please help me to encourage those who may be fighting a similar battle. Amen.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

The only diet books you will ever need.

The Fuck It Diet

https://bit.ly/FIDCIE

Health At Every Size

https://bit.ly/HAESCIE

Free Use Image from Open Clipart Vectors

Fat and Ornery

Free Use Image from Pixabay

Hangry says "fuck dieting."

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)

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Come As You Are Party: Breaking Down my Breakdown

 

Trigger warning for those who want or need it: Suicide Ideation

"The readers in the world - regardless of how much or how little writing talent they have - become the people who succeed in life."

Unless they're me. 

I am an abject failure.

I am burned out on reading, and on promoting other people's books.

I am discouraged about writing. Clearly, I can't cut it in the popular writing world, but I feel like I've been ousted from my own universe and can't get back in. 

Nobody wants to read what I write, but I can't give the people what they want because what they want doesn't interest me. 

52 Weeks of Writing encourages me to find an "accountability partner."

I'm already accountable. I am a fucking taskmaster. I won't cut myself a break. I'll sleep when I'm dead. And so on. 

This is what I need:

I think that Stephen, being the King of Horror, has forgotten what it's like to not know if anyone needs or wants what you write. He knows that someone out there needs his stories. 

Clearly, nobody needs or wants my stories. There will never be a single soul who says "boy, Story X by C.L. Hart really helped me through" or "wow, that poem by Ornery Owl really spoke to me," or even "that cheeky Lil DeVille's spicy stories cheered me up when I needed it." 

If I haven't made it by almost 60, I'm not going to make it. Honestly, it's discouraging rather than inspiring to be in the company of people who have made it to some degree. I'm going to have to resign myself to the fact that my stories are just a coping mechanism to keep me from topping myself. I wanted something more from them and I wanted something more for them. They deserve better.

I'm sick of myself. I'm sick of this breakdown. I'm sick of living in a world of broken-down things that I don't have the money to fix or replace. I'm sick of living in poverty. I'm sick of all my health problems. 

I've just spent over an hour trying to correct my whacked-out blood sugar. Having zombie organs floating around in my body doing jack shit is a fabulous adventure. Please do try it sometime.

On second thought, don't.

I considered shooting the moon with my insulin this morning. Just dialing the pen as far as it could go and saying goodbye to this failed existence. The only reason I didn't is that my son would be in dire circumstances without my help. It's strange how I can be indispensable and yet an utterly useless piece of shit all at the same time. Such a dichotomy I am. 

Don't tell me to "get help." There isn't any. I don't trust counselors. 

Don't tell me to "take medication." Psych meds make me psychotic. I don't enjoy being psychotic.

Don't tell me to "go to the ER." This isn't an emergency. This is suicide ideation. If I went to the ER every time I experienced suicide ideation, I'd have to live there. Being placed on a psych hold wouldn't help me, it would make things worse. I know what's wrong with me. I'm fucking discouraged and I'm sick of it all. I need a win and I'm not going to get one.

I'm going to have to do something else with my writing. Pursuing fame and money makes me depressed. Well, more depressed. 

I'm going to have to go back to writing what I like to write.

I need to find the key to the gate of dreams again.

Lead on, Mr. Lovecraft.

The line about the key to my dreams is a reference to the story "The Silver Key" by H. P. Lovecraft. You can read the story here if you are so inclined.

https://cthulhu.fandom.com/wiki/The_Silver_Key

The first few lines go a little bit something like this:

When Randolph Carter was thirty he lost the key of the gate of dreams. Prior to that time he had made up for the prosiness of life by nightly excursions to strange and ancient cities beyond space, and lovely, unbelievable garden lands across ethereal seas; but as middle age hardened upon him he felt those liberties slipping away little by little, until at last he was cut off altogether.

Lovecraft was writing about himself when he penned this story. He struggled with depression including suicide ideation just like yours truly. 

The story's protagonist, Randolph Carter, is actually a bit of a dick. He brings misery to the life of the hapless Yaddithian wizard Zkauba. My yet-to-be-edited novel "The Wizard's Key" includes a sympathetic account of Zkauba's plight, which led him to call on Nyarlathotep to free him from Carter's influence.

I hope it isn't too late to re-open the gate.

Perhaps it would be best if I slept for another couple of hours. We're going to try the journey to my mother's house once again today.

Spirit of the Universe, please help me recapture the joy that writing once gave me. Please help me remember what's important. It isn't validation. Still, it hurts seeing so many other people winning when I seem to do nothing but lose.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

Free use image from Pixabay

Resource Books:

52 Weeks of Writing

https://amzn.to/33sESxd

Self-Help Sucks

https://amzn.to/3sCWA9q

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)

Creative Commons License

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This work is the intellectual property of  Naughty Netherworld Press and Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp.

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it. Odysee’s reblog function is called repost, which makes things confusing since reposting is considered a no-no on most platforms. It’s fine to share the post using the repost function on Odysee. It is not okay to copy-paste the material into a new post.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

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Fat Tuesday: Because Fat Isn't Just For Fridays Anymore

 

This is personal and I'll keep it vague so I don't get cussed out for my internalized fatphobia or such. I am having the worst day in quite a long time. I feel like such a loser for not being able to work anymore and for having to apply for disability. I'm not saying that people who are on disability are losers because I do not think and have never thought that. However, for as long as I can remember, I had it drilled into me that you need to be able to do your part or you are a loser, and having to get help from welfare programs is shameful. 

On top of that I realize the way that people look at me and think of me because of my size. With pity, with disdain, or with both. All the while thinking that if I just tried harder, I could lose weight. Well, if I could lose it I would have. I'm actually pretty damn good at restricting food. Still fat. With my endocrine system, it will probably never be otherwise.

I wish that there was just one day when I didn't wake up to that damn internal tape playing, calling me all sorts of hateful names, most of them directed at my size, all of them meaning loser. This is why the whole "just love yourself" thing bothers me. I'll never love myself. I'll never think I'm even remotely attractive, let alone beautiful. Why can't I be allowed to just be neutral with myself?

Then I get mad at myself for whining about it.

I can't win.

I've been seeing a lot of this regressive thinking lately, the idea that the world's misery is due to evil feminist witches who don't smile enough, wear enough dresses, don't maintain their girlish figures, and don't put out enough for gross sexist men. 

My blood sugar has been high lately. I know it's because of stress since I'm not eating anything different than usual. I'm not some kind of saint with my carb intake, but I do try to eat foods that are on the low rather than the high end, and I dose my insulin accordingly. When I'm upset I still have high readings.

I know I am supposed to "just calm down" and "just love myself." Yes, and I know I'm "just" supposed to lose weight too and be young, hot, and fuckable. Well, guess what, Bitch? Still old, fat, and repulsive. And I should be allowed to just live without being shit on for that. Seriously. I don't want to fuck you either.

(This is a generic "you," not "you the reader." Unless the person reading this is a fatphobic, sexist twat. In that case, it is you.)

Fat, Ornery, and Mad as Hell

Ornery Owl

Free Use Image from Open Clipart Vectors on Pixabay

Fat Friday: Weight Loss is Not the Happily Ever After that Diet Companies Want You To Believe

 

How a lot of people think

I would love to be able to discuss carbohydrate intake and eating disorder issues without some fucking fucknugget concern troll always bringing the conversation back around to weight loss.

These fuckers always think that the only kind of eating disorder a fat person can have is binge eating.

I actually do not binge eat. I used to, but I don't anymore and haven't in years. I didn't stop because I became a saintly Thinlier Than Thou. I stopped because when I started treating my diabetes, the ravenous cravings that I used to have for simple carbohydrates were quelled. I stopped because when I was forced to quit working high-stress jobs that left my mind entirely numb and left me feeling like an empty vessel, I was able to consider my meals in a more analytical fashion.

What I actually have problems with is food restriction.

Type 2 diabetics have issues with paradoxical fasting highs.

I'm actually great at restricting food. Today, I've been restricting food since I woke up at 6:15 this morning. I have to hold off on eating for a half-hour after I take my thyroid medicine. That half-hour usually turns into several hours.

So, I'm great at food restriction. Still fat. 

My son isn't fat, but he's on the stocky side. He's prone to skipping meals, not because he's trying to lose weight, but because he doesn't feel like eating or he gets busy and forgets. Still stocky.

Here's the thing. It should not be about whether I'm fat. Since I'm diabetic, a big part of the focus should be on my A1C and blood glucose readings.

However, neither of those should be used as a reason to shame a person either.

Here's the other thing.

STRESS.

It drives up blood glucose.

It drives up blood pressure.

When you create a climate of self-loathing, you create a climate of constant stress. 

Stress increases cortisol.

Cortisol promotes weight gain.

However.

"Fat is the very worst thing a person can possibly be, and food insecurity and stress increase a person's chances of getting fat, so I shouldn't encourage dieting and self-loathing" should not be your reason for not being an asshole to someone.

Just don't be an asshole.

I would like to discuss my diabetic and eating disorder issues without fucking diet talk, fat-shaming, and thin praising always pushing their way into the conversation.

Fuck a whole lot of that shit.

Ornery Owl has Spoken

Fat and Ornery

Free Use Image by Open Clipart Vectors on Pixabay

Hangry

Free use image from Pixabay

Fat Friday: Stress: It's a Killa

 

if I had to blame one factor for triggering my diabetes, it would be food insecurity. Decades of yo-yo dieting and being a member of the working class living paycheck to paycheck puts a lot of stress on one's body. 

Stress, not eating "bad food" or "eating too much" is something that I believe can trigger diabetes in people who have the genetic trigger for such. However, the solution is not to scold people to "just" relax, "just get a better job," "just eat healthier," "just exercise more," or whatever else they're "just" supposed to do. 

As many of us seem to agree, not everyone starts out with or has the same advantages in life. 

Fat and Ornery

Image copyright Open Clipart Vectors on Pixabay

Carpe Diem Love Month: Moonlight Moving: A Fetch Story Poem

Image by Syaibatul Hamdi from Pixabay

the moonlight moving

across a traumatized sky

above a dead world

~cie~

notes

I have not been well. My diabetes has decided to behave in a more completely shitty fashion than it had previously done, so not only do I find myself dealing with the frustration of contending with this garbage condition, I find myself mired in self-loathing because I learned at a young age that anything shy of physical perfection was a personal failure. I will say with unflinching honesty that if it weren't for the fact that I still serve a purpose in assisting my son, I would punch my own ticket. I realize that suicide ideation is an uncomfortable subject, but please refrain from the blah blah counseling blah and blah blah medications blah rhetoric. Counseling doesn't help, and psych meds cause me to become manic and psychotic, two things that I, shockingly, don't enjoy being.

This poem describes the dead world of Zetar 6 (Zecor), a key player in the Fetch Universe. Fetch is Team Netherworld's flagship story, which was born in early November of 2014 when I was working at the retirement community where I would work for close to 11 years. The idea was born when I learned that someone who had meant a great deal to me for many years had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. This person was only 55 years old at the time of diagnosis--the same age that I am now. 

In my shock and grief, I walked through the vast retirement community and was prompted with the idea of finally starting a project that I had envisioned taking on for close to forty years. I had always wanted to write a backstory for the Lights of Zetar, a Star Trek episode which has been universally panned by critics and which has its problems, but has, nonetheless, always fascinated (and scared the bejeezus out of ) me.

The inspiration to finally begin this project and to incorporate it with my beloved Cthulhu Mythos came from a mind other than my own. I will not go into detail except to say that this inspirational individual was noncorporeal, and you can think whatever the hell you want about that, I'm not going to argue with you. I refer to this presence as Gem, and I am deeply grateful to him for the gift he gave me. I am saddened by the fact that when I am gone, the door to this world will close. No-one enjoys my work, and I am well aware of that. My writing style is entirely unappealing to most people, and my personality even more so.

I love you, Gem, but sometimes I am not sure if you possess much in the way of good sense. If you did, you surely would have chosen a scribe who was less of a complete and utter train wreck of a human being to be your co-conspirator.

Love,

cie

Suspending Literary Services

Howdy Solks...I mean Folks.

Due to recent changes in my health, including my cognition, I have opted to suspend my literary services except for those I do for Online Book Club. I make a small amount of money working with them. It was a grand total of about $5000 last year, but it's better than nothing.

Diabetes is a garbage disease. Just when you think it's done fucking you up, it will fuck you up some more. 

My guess would be that my time on this scuzzy ball of dirt will be terminated by something relating to diabetes unless I decide it isn't worth it to keep fighting the tide and decide to punch my own ticket.

That being said, I want to spend the remaining time I may have to work on my own writing and helping my son prepare for the time when I won't be around to assist him anymore, which may be sooner than I have anticipated. I worry about this because although there are some things he does very well, he will not do well being completely on his own.

If I still believed in God, I would bargain with the fucker. But from what I have seen, if he exists, he enjoys being a dick. So I'm not even going to include him in the loop.

I am not in a great place psychologically and haven't been for a while. 

No unsolicited advice, please. Like the kid in the picture above says, I really don't believe that chewing seaweed covered in whale urine while standing on my head and reciting ancient mantras backward is going to lead to my diabetes going into remission, my thyroid healing itself, my hair reversing its grayness, and me suddenly being converted from a hideous old fat hag with a face that could destroy worlds to a Conventionally Attractive Hot Supermodel of a Socially Acceptable Size as drooling dudebros literally beat down my door to get a piece of this. I fucking wouldn't want that shit even if I could have it for the asking.

Okay, I would take the diabetes reversal and the thyroid healing. As for the appearance stuff, fuck you if you really think I'm less worthy of being treated with common courtesy because I'm not young, thin, and pretty, and the dudebros banging on my door sounds like something out of one of my nightmares.

I'm kind of thinking it would be better if I put the kibosh on comments for this post because I really don't have it in me to deal with that shit. If I want to interact with you regarding these thoughts, you already have my email address.

So...yeah. Now you know what's going on with me, for what it's worth.

Tan Renga Wednesday on Friday: Last Leaf

Image Source

a last leaf

swirls on the wind towards the east -

first snow falls gently

the falling snow is pleasant

the icy roads are not so

~Chèvrefeuille & cie~

notes

The Hokku stanza was written by Chevrefeuille. The Ageku was created by me. I do like the snow, but I hate driving on icy roads. I've had a couple incidents when doing so which left me with a bit of PTSD. I tend to tense up when I have to drive on icy roads, which makes doing so a bad idea.

I will try to catch up with the poems over the next few days. I was working on a short story for blog.reedsy.com. If you are looking for a short story contest with no entry fee, they have a weekly contest here. Go to the apps section of the page and choose "story prompt."

Also, if you're looking for help with editing or publishing your book, you can look at what Reedsy has to offer here. Using that link will get you $25 credit on any of Reedsy's services.

I believe I may have had another TIA. There always tends to be a cognitive shift when one of these happens. It's hard to explain. It isn't as if I'm having short term memory issues (well, no worse than I ever did). It's simply that the WAY I think changes. At this point, I find myself needing to be a little more measured in my output. I get tired very easily. It's frustrating because although I've never been a Type A personality by any means, I've always been very productive.

I know that I'm vulnerable to vascular problems because of my diabetes. Well, I'm perfectly happy to keep my blood sugars in check, which I can do if I have, you know, ADEQUATE INSULIN! Which my health care provider and Medicaid seem to be conspiring not to provide me. Going without insulin for weeks at a time is, I don't know, a bad thing when you're diabetic. 

The elite devils in charge of things don't care about that, though. They want the poor and the handicapped dead. Of course, then they won't have anyone to do the menial jobs that they revile, but I wouldn't give them too much credit for being smart.

Yeah, I said "handicapped" instead of the more politically correct "disabled." I honestly don't see what the difference is. I can apply both to my own condition, and I don't find either one offensive. Sometimes people become so busy picking nits that they forget to work on the issues that really matter.

Carpe Diem Love Month: Unconditional Love for a Wonderful Friend

One of my best friends always

Lafayette

17 July 2009 - 17 July 2015

you came to see me

in a dream so real I knew

you were truly here

~cie~

notes

I've no intention of arguing the reality of this with anyone, so if you've a burning need to prove me wrong, kindly take it somewhere else.

Lafayette was one of the dearest friends I've had. He truly loved me unconditionally. He did not see me ugly, the way most of the world has. He did not judge my large size or my repugnant face in a harsh way. He did not judge my lack of success or my physical or psychological anomalies. He just wanted to be my friend and he was always very happy to have me come home. He sat with me when I worked. He never would have done anything to hurt me, but things went badly wrong with his body and he was taken from me much too soon.

Today when I slept, I was given the opportunity to be with Lafayette again for a while. I thank the angelic being who gave me this opportunity with all my soul. I thanked him for allowing me to be with my sweet, fluffy kitty once again, for allowing me to be with my dear friend.

When I had to leave that reality and come back to my body, it broke my heart. I wanted to stay with a friend who never saw me through eyes of disappointment or disgust. Still, this experience allowed me to break free from the fear of physical demise that has been plaguing me for many months. I now know that when I leave my body, I will be with Lafayette again.

I have been having a fair bit of trouble physically, and I am not given the assistance I need. The amount of insulin I've been prescribed isn't adequate. I will go for long periods of time without insulin, and it is damaging my body. I am fearful that it will eventually lead to a hemorrhagic stroke because of vascular damage.

I am actually quite good about being compliant with using insulin as necessary. I just need to be prescribed enough to get the job done. I often refuse to eat so I can ration my insulin. This isn't right, none of it is right.

This world has been cruel to me throughout my life. It is a world that is relentless to those who are different. 

By the way, if you're one of those people who feels a need to tell everyone how much you hate tattoos, now would be a great time to shut up about that too. I'm not forcing you to get one. This one is on my shoulder and will be for life.

I've not been doing very well either mentally or physically in some time. I have a strong sense of doom hanging over me, but after my visit with Lafayette, I don't fear it any longer. I just hope I am allowed enough time to get the rest of my shit in order so I don't leave my son with a huge mess to deal with when I'm gone. I worry about him. He really doesn't have anyone he can rely on at all except for me. That's a scary thing, considering how precarious my health is.

FOAD Thursday: Jillian Michaels Can FOAD Forever

A response to this post.

You know, it's hard enough having to deal with diabetes without having it made into a character flaw by sanctimonious assholes. I'm glad that Kai Hibbard came at Jillian Michaels full force. 

I give no quarter to those who say things like being fat causes diabetes. I would hazard a guess that in the case of people like me there is a genetic factor that both caused my train wreck of an endocrine system and promotes a heavy body type. But many people who are built like me (myself included) are actually very good at restricting food. Yo-yo dieting has also been implicated in causing the problems that being fat gets blamed for, because, you know, starving yourself isn't good for a body.

Image copyright Open Clipart Vectors

Fat. And ornery.

Come As You Are Party at the Camp 5 January 2020

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

I am not okay today.

Not at all.

I don't expect anyone to say anything about it.

People gave up on trying to cheer me up long ago because it doesn't last. The fact that my darkness returns hurts their ego.

"Well, I helped you. If you can't stay helped, that's your problem."

"Life's hard, Honey. Get a helmet."

"You think you have problems? Everyone has problems."

"Suck it up, Buttercup."

People like to help things that are tiny and cute.

Not big, ugly things.

People see the outside.

People focus too much on the outside.

I know that what's inside of this big, ugly body is kind of an interesting person. 

But the idea of "loving myself" is such an absolutely foreign concept to me that you might as well be telling me to go dance on Jupiter.

How am I supposed to even like myself a little when every day I get the message that anyone who looks like me is The Worst Thing That Could Possibly Exist?

How am I supposed to feel encouraged to take care of myself when every day I receive the message that I Brought My Health Problems On Myself by Being Too Fat?

It never occurs to any of these Dr. Oz wannabes that perhaps the ratio of adipose tissue is CORRELATED to the condition as opposed to causing it.

It doesn't help me encourage myself when all I ever hear is "if you just TRIED HARDER you could be thin and pretty and then Some Wonderful Guy would fall in love with you and Take Care Of You."

Hell, it doesn't occur to these fuckers with their platitudes that THE LAST FUCKING THING I WANT is for "Some Wonderful Guy" (TM) to swoop in and solve all my problems. Or Some Wonderful Woman (TM). If I were looking, I'd want the guy, seeing as I'm (gasp) straight. Which is the second or third worst thing that a person can possibly be and not just, you know, a sexual orientation. 

Of all THE WORST THINGS that a person can possibly be, I'm a lot of them.

First and foremost, I'm fat.

Fat.

FAT

FAAAAAAATTTTTTTTT!!!!!

Which is, you know, worse than being a serial killer or a horrible monster who tortures little animals, or a child molester.

To hear people tell it, the Worst Thing A Person Can Possibly Be is Fat.

Fat people never get to be neutral in stories. Certainly, they don't get to be the star of the story, at least not if they remain fat. They can be The Star if they Lose Weight and Become Hot (TM). They can't just be a cool fat hero or heroine being their badass self. They have to be Redeemed from their Fat. Because Fat is the Very Worst Thing That A Person Can Possibly Be.

I can't read cookbooks without the focus being Losing Weight so you can Become THIN (aka, godly). Even though I now reject all the stupid, sickening women's magazines telling me to how to be The Perfect Thin Pretty White Lady (I'm two out of those five things. Guess which two) I still have the THINNESS IS NEXT TO GODLINESS crapola shoved in my face constantly just by going on the internet and looking for fucking recipes. For food to eat. Hopefully inexpensively, because I am far from rich. And hopefully with lower carbohydrate content because I'm fucking diabetic. Hopefully without the side order of Fat Shaming and Thin Praising that seems to be fucking inevitable.

I am feeling a little better for having said it.

I am going to keep saying it until it starts to sink in.

If your go-to is to ridicule and behave sanctimoniously towards fat people, you, not they, are the problem.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Check out the one and only diet endorsed by the Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp.