Ugly Fat Old Failure Intro

 

Image created by the author with free-use elements from Pixabay plus text art and enhancements from Pixlr. Base images by Dina Dee and John Hain from Pixabay. The woman depicted is an AI creation, not an actual person.

The reasons for the war I am about to wage date back decades, even centuries in some cases. I was not around in this form centuries ago, but I may have been there in a different one. However, this book is not about reincarnation. I will strive to remain on topic. Having ADHD means going off on unrelated tangents is a far from slim possibility.

I am a woman. A large woman. A woman who has been on the planet for close to six decades. A woman whom no-one would ever mistake for cute, hot, pretty, sexy, or any other such thing that all women are supposed to be in order to be judged momentarily worthy of attitudes other than outright disdain. This explains the presence of the unflattering adjective Ugly in the title. Personally, I feel both Old and Fat are neutral descriptors, but all too many people use these words as insults.

As for the descriptor Failure, my reason for choosing that word stems from an article I read several years ago. Sadly, I don’t remember the name of the person who wrote the article. I believe she was a doctor attending a conference. When she expressed the opinion that shaming larger patients did nothing to improve their well-being and, in fact, prompted them to avoid seeking medical care, many of her fellow physicians laughed at her. One even commented something along the lines of “do you think coddling these losers will do anything to improve their failed lives?”

This is exactly the way many doctors feel about their larger patients. It is an attitude encouraged by medical schools. I somehow survived nursing school without offing myself or anyone else. Fatphobic attitudes are prevalent AND encouraged in nursing schools. They were also prevalent in the hospitals where I did my clinicals. In fairness, the staff at one of these hospitals treated a very large woman suffering from depression severe enough that she had become nonverbal and unable to care for herself with great kindness, never shaming her for her size or for not responding. It is one of the few times I have seen a fat patient treated with real compassion.

Fatphobic attitudes were not encouraged in the EMS program I attended. We were trained that our goal was to help patients get the care they need, not to scold or belittle them. Even if they were chronic substance abusers (known in the business as Frequent Fliers.) Even if they were extremely heavy. Even if they lived in squalid surroundings. The reasoning for this (sensible) rule was a practical one. Shaming patients does not encourage them to get the care they need. We are there to help them get care.

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uniquely maladjusted but fun: Chuck A Kiss #WEPFF #WEP Moonlight Sonata

uniquely maladjusted but fun: Chuck A Kiss #WEPFF #WEP Moonlight Sonata: writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2022/08/wep-august-2022-challenge-moonlight.html Chuck A Kiss By Jamie of Uniquely Maladjusted but ...

"You don't want a chance. All you want is some experience."

I found out the hard way that was what the guy I spent my senior year madly enamored with wanted from me. I thought I'd gotten lucky, and he was seeing the light. He was just seeing an easy mark. 

I would have thought that twenty-two years into the twenty-first century, boys might have learned to see girls as human beings. If anything, I think things have gotten worse with kids watching porn from a young age and hookup culture.

Blog of Author J Lenni Dorner: #WEP #NativeAmerican #ShortStory and #BoutOfBooks ...

Blog of Author J Lenni Dorner: #WEP #NativeAmerican #ShortStory and #BoutOfBooks ...: writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com The following is 😉fictionalized. This is about a teen reuniting with his biological parents, and disc...

This is a beautifully written story that makes the reader think about the injustices that continue to be faced by American Indians. 

I never worried that my child would be taken from me at birth. I was 25 years old and married. I had a friend in high school who was pushed into giving her baby up for adoption. She fell into a deep depression after that and disappeared. Nearly 40 years later, I still think about her often and wonder what happened to her.

Cressida de Nova: The Wayra ...57768

Cressida de Nova: The Wayra ...57768:      there is something wrong can't get you out of my head begone dull lothario get behind me satan am too old for this foolishness   ...

Love it, love it, love it!

And, obviously, I'm not done talking about this incident, but I have a new spin on it.

One day when I went out for a walk with my mobile park bench (my upright walker) this aggravating fellow greeted me to give me one of his unsolicited pep talks. On this occasion, he told me "you have beautiful hair. If we could get your body to match your hair, you'd be a real doll."

I wish I'd thought of saying "yes, and if you'd just shut your mouth, you might be handsome."

Unfortunately, I live in a small town and don't want to make enemies of anyone here, so I probably wouldn't have said it even if I'd thought of it.

Fat Friday: Ageism and Size Prejudice

Image copyright Open Clipart Vectors

Ornery sez:

Say "NO WAY" to ageism and fatphobia!

This is a response to a post by Ragen Chastain regarding comebacks for fatphobic bullshit.

“You’re not fat! Don’t talk about yourself like that, it makes me uncomfortable.”

My blogger handle is The Ornery Old Lady.

I had a person comment on one of my posts “you’re not old, you’re young at heart!”

I had to laugh because if there is one thing I’ve never been, it’s young at heart. I’ve had kind of a tough go of things.

Two of society’s biggest prejudices, especially when it comes to women, are age and size. I’m middle-aged and fat. And I want to know why my saying that should make anyone uncomfortable.

(Hint–it shouldn’t.)

The Ornery Middle-Aged Lady just doesn’t have the same impact as The Ornery Old Lady, though.

Fat and Ornery

Wordy Thursday: Opaque

Genre: 
Young Adult/Paranormal Romance/Sci-Fi

Rating: 
Three out of Four stars for Online Book Club, 
Three out of Five stars for Amazon

Disclosure:
If readers purchase a copy of this book through the above link, I will earn a small commission from Amazon.
This review is a duplicate of my Amazon review for this book.
I received an advance copy of this book for review purposes.

Read my exclusive Online Book Club review for this book here.

This story has a fascinating premise and compelling characters. Adam is a young man who is unaware that he has superhuman abilities until Carly comes to his school and teaches him the truth about himself. Adam initially presents as potentially being a sociopath and certain of his actions and their consequences (or lack thereof) are the reasons why I question whether this book should be categorized as a young adult novel although the protagonists are teenagers.

Adam experiences romantic attraction to his mother. Although the author avoids graphic detail, incestuous fantasies are a rather taboo subject, perhaps best left in adult fiction. At one point, Adam's disturbing behavior leads to the death of a young woman and he suffers no real consequences for his actions. I found this plot device unsettling.

The book suffers to a degree from The Twilight Problem. "You can redeem the bad boy" is a terrible message to be imparting to young girls. Carly, Adam's love interest, is so concerned with saving Adam that she ignores his abusive and violent actions. For a female character to be completely wrapped up in saving a significant other who presents a danger to her sends a dangerous and frankly sexist message. I am frustrated by stories which present female characters only as foils and helpmates to badly behaved males.

Further, I was appalled by the frequent references to Carly's apparently ample yet shapely buttocks and to the scene describing her stripping down to her underclothes. I found it unsettling to be reading a voyeuristic description of a teenage girl undressing.

I nearly stopped reading this book when the author made the unfortunate decision to use a psychological condition as an adjective to describe certain of Adam's behaviors that Carly found irritating.

"She sighs at his bipolar actions.”

The author is using the term "bipolar" to mean mercurial or changeable, and this is an utterly offensive thing to do. Individuals who live with bipolar disorder are as varied in their behaviors as those who do not have this condition. I am 55 years old and have type 2 bipolar disorder. I do not tend to present as mercurial or changeable and, in fact, I tend to present as staid and sedate. What people do not see below the surface is the fact that I am constantly fighting against low self-esteem and suicide ideation. The battles of me and others with this serious psychiatric condition should not be reduced to an adjective describing undesirable behavior on the part of a character in a novel. To do so is extremely dismissive and insulting. I would hope that no-one would ever say something like "she sighs at his cancer actions" to describe the behaviors of a person who is weak and tired. Why in the world would anyone think it's okay to do this sort of thing regarding psychiatric conditions?

Although I found the characters compelling, to a degree I also found them two-dimensional. Adam's father was the only character who wasn't Hollywood-pretty.

If the reader can overlook these faults, they will likely be drawn into the story. It is probably okay for older teens to read this book, but I would advise against giving it to anyone under sixteen.

Image copyright Open Clipart Vectors

Sly's WTF Wednesday + Ornery Reviews: Don't Be Like a Girl and Play Through the Pain

Disclosure: If readers purchase a copy of the book through the preview link, I will receive a small commission from Amazon.

Man Mission is actually a very enjoyable book, and I recommend it. The following comes from a discussion of the Pink Bracelet Rule: he who whines loudest wears the pink bracelet. 

This rule is amusing in the context of the book and is in keeping with the book's characters. However, I had a few thoughts.

I've always found the "don't be like a girl" thing to be both sexist and untrue. Girls have plenty of strength and ability. What are we telling boys about girls when being "like a girl" is an insult?

The pink bracelet bit was fitting for the dudebro camaraderie in the story. However, in real life, "playing through the pain" tends to lead to lasting problems, and it isn't only guys who do it. I ignored numbness and tingling in the fingers of my left hand and kept working a job with a lot of heavy lifting for months until one day I woke up with my left arm in excruciating pain. I didn't have insurance and had to quit my job and wait a month until I could get Medicaid and get physical therapy. The pain was so bad that I considered committing suicide. It took a long time for the arm to become anywhere close to normal again. It still isn't entirely normal, and I still have to be careful with it so I don't exacerbate the injury that I allowed to become as bad as it did by "trying not to whine" and "playing through the pain."

Last time I checked, I was a woman. This bad idea isn't reserved for men, although for some inane reason society pats them on the back for it.

What the fuck, you guys?

~Sly Has Spoken~

Image copyright juliahenze @123rf.com

Image copyright Open Clipart Vectors

Ornery Literary Services

Will work for links and tips

OctPoWriMo 2019: Day 3: Aunt Cie's Soapbox: Leave My Old Womb Alone (Choka)

Image by Solarus from Pixabay

lay off my old womb

I am not a candidate

for new motherhood

I can no longer achieve

reproduction, no

but it would not bring me joy

to endure the pain

of removing my old womb

it is my life choice

to keep my organs intact

despite a slightly

elevated chance that I

develop cancer

somewhere well on down the line

any womb is not

only worth saving when it

is available

to serve as incubator

~Cie~

Note:

The poem references the incidents of 2018 when my life continued revolving around my uterus despite the fact that the painful periods I had endured for 40 years had come to an end. In April of 2017, and again in April of 2018, I experienced post-menopausal bleeding, and in June of 2018, I underwent a D&C to determine the nature of the endometrial cells.

Had the cells been abnormal or the endometrial hyperplasia complex, this would have elevated my risk of future endometrial cancer by 36%, in which case I would have opted for a hysterectomy.

My cells were normal and it was simple hyperplasia. This only increases the risk of endometrial cancer by 1.6%. In the end, I felt that the risks posed by undergoing a hysterectomy, which is a major surgery no matter how casual a spin doctors try to put on it, were greater than opting for a wait and see approach. 

Post-menopausal endometrial hyperplasia can occur for a variety of reasons. It is more common in Caucasian women, in women over fifty, in women with a larger body type, and in diabetic women. I am a large Caucasian woman over fifty with a large body type who has diabetes. As it turned out, I also had a number of small fibroids in my uterus which were probably irritating the endometrium and causing it to overgrow.

My primary care physician wanted me to have a hysterectomy.

My OB/GYN wanted me to have a hysterectomy.

The gynecologic oncologist whom I consulted wanted me to have a hysterectomy.

This despite the fact that all of them quoted a very low increased likelihood of the type of hyperplasia I was experiencing ever developing into cancer.

I had one of those obnoxious trans-vaginal ultrasounds in February of this year which showed that the endometrial lining was still slightly thicker than normal but had greatly reduced in size and was within the perimeters of acceptable. I did not experience bleeding in April of this year. My OB/GYN wanted to do another D&C, but I said no. There was no presenting reason to undergo a procedure that leaves me feeling like someone has been up in my business with a cheese grater.

I consulted with a radiologist who specializes in a procedure called uterine artery embolization, which utilizes tiny radioactive grains to block the uterine arteries and cut off the blood supply to the fibroids so they shrink and cease to cause trouble. As opposed to a hysterectomy, which is a major surgery, this is a minimally invasive approach. The doctor told me I was not a candidate for the procedure because fibroids will shrink on their own after menopause, but she agreed with me that since I had not experienced post-menopausal bleeding this year, the endometrial thickness is within acceptable boundaries, and my hyperplasia is the low-risk variety for future development of cancer, a wait and see approach makes sense in my case. She discussed this with my OB/GYN and the gynecologic oncologist, and they agreed with her.

During The Year Of Focusing Way Too Much On My Uterus, I learned just how quick doctors are to recommend a hysterectomy to post-menopausal women. If a woman can no longer serve as a baby factory, let's just yank the old plumbing out, risks be damned. The fact is, major surgery is always risky although sometimes the risks of surgery are necessary. It is also a fact that the female reproductive system provides benefits to its owner even after menopause and unless it is malfunctioning in a way that makes life unacceptably uncomfortable or poses risks to a woman's health, it's best to leave it alone.

Uterus: it's not just for incubating infants. 

That's been Aunt Cie's Soapbox, Ladies! Hysterectomy is sometimes necessary, but it tends to be overprescribed, particularly in post-menopausal women.

Fat Friday #9: Psychology, Psychiatry, Fatphobia, and Misogyny

I have rapid cycling type 2 bipolar disorder. I have paradoxical reactions to most medications. I am a big woman.

I was told to “just stay on” Zoloft, which made me feel like my brain had grown tiny hands and was trying to pick its way out of my skull. I didn’t stop feeling the hands picking at the inside of my skull until I quit taking the Zoloft, against the doctor’s orders.

Effexor made me manic and psychotic as well. I normally do not experience psychosis or full manias.

Most counselors and doctors have gone the “weight loss is the be-all and end-all route,” even though I have serious endocrine problems and weight loss is extremely unlikely. I am food insecure. I don’t even eat three meals a day. I’m still big. Even though I told them to stop pushing weight loss because it was triggering anorexic behaviors. Obviously, I can’t be happy until I’m a petite delicate flower who is pleasing to the male gaze.

Psychology and psychiatry are absolutely misogynist. These doctors don’t care if their patients are happy. They want women to be pleasing to the eye and obedient.

Shrinks: I don't trust them damn crooked vultures.

Troiku Challenge 2019: Day 9: Pink Flowers Bloom

Image by Angela Yuriko Smith from Pixabay

pink flowers in bloom

for the pretty princesses

darling little girls

pink flowers in bloom

pruned and fed fertilizer

twisted and transformed

for the pretty princesses

gifts wrapped in shiny paper

empty box of lies

darling little girls

hide ugly little secrets

not pretty inside

~Cie~

Notes:

A Senryu in honor of little girls who are taught from a young age that our only real worth is in our ability to be pleasing to the eyes and desires of men.

Image Source

Insecure Writers Support Group + The Cheese Grates It: Banned on Tumblr

Image copyright prettysleepy2

Note: This post contains profanity. If that is a problem for you, please don't continue reading.

You may wonder what this post has to do with the Insecure Writer's Support Group. I argue that freedom of speech is something all writers should be concerned about, and that is why I think this post is appropriate.

Tumblr shadow-banned my slightly naughty Supernatural fan blog.

Not for filthy, filthy Wincest pictures, like you might think. You actually have to go to about the 13th page to find an even remotely NSFW image. 

Nope. I can’t publish or reblog anything to this blog because I was being snarky about Tumblr becoming a kid-friendly playground instead of a platform for adults.

I’m moving wincestshippingtrash to nibblebit, a platform that is similar to Tumblr in the way it functions, and which is a platform geared to adult bloggers. Which is what Tumblr used to pride itself on, but now that they've sold their souls to Yahoo and Verizon, they're trying to present themselves as family friendly. Heck, a lot of the stuff that Tumblr was proud to allow was too rich for my blood, and I'm the founder, editor, and co-writer of the very torrid tales at Naughty Netherworld Press. If I'm nope-ing out because it's too raunchy, you know that shit's raunchy.

Here’s what’s funny. I have blogs on Blogger which I’ve deemed NSFW, even though most of them only contain harsh language. I flag these blogs as “adult” and when people type in the URL, they come to a notice which says “material on this blog has been flagged as only appropriate for adults. Do you wish to continue?” 

Tumblr has something called "safe mode," which prevents adult-flagged blogs from appearing in searches. Wincestshippingtrash was flagged as “adult” by me. It shouldn’t appear in Safe Mode, like, ever.

But it wasn’t even adult content that got the blog banned. It was the fact that I was being cheeky to Tumblr Staff, and they couldn’t deal.

I may be a mess health-wise at this point in my life, but I would fight to the death to preserve freedom of speech. I think that what Tumblr is doing is some East Block level shit. I guess we’ll see how long my primary Tumblr blog remains active what with me speaking out against the Evil Empire this way.

Also, what is this “female presenting nipple” bullshit, Tumblr? To me, that’s sexist AF.

Tumblr looks the other way when it comes to cyberbullying, including telling people to kill themselves or death threats. It's okay to call someone a "fat, ugly cunt," apparently. It's okay to promote violence by encouraging people to "punch a TERF." But Heavens forbid someone shows a bit of butt crack or a "female presenting nipple."

Folks have been circulating this around Tumblr to see how long it takes for it to get flagged. This is how ridiculous things have become.

Tumblr will either do what Blogger did a few years back and backpedal on their decision to ban adult content when they saw that their longtime users were leaving in droves, or they will become a wasteland like Myspace.

Nobody (well, nobody who shouldn't be in jail) wants child porn. The way to deal with that problem is not to ban all adult content. It is to remove the blog presenting it from public view, and do not delete the content because the FBI and Interpol will need access to it, but report the content to the FBI and Interpol. 

Again, freedom of speech is an issue which every writer needs to be concerned about. There are a lot of things which I find offensive, and there are a lot of things that I'm just plain not interested in. However, I believe it is appropriate that even things I deem offensive (such as Stormfront) are allowed a platform. If they go underground, they become even more dangerous. If they are allowed to spout their rhetoric, it is easier to refute them, and also easier for agencies such as the FBI to keep an eye on them.

Tumblr really screwed the pooch with their blanket adult content ban. This pooch. It is not a happy camper and is coming back to bite them on the ass.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It: The Racist, Classist, and Sexist Roots of Weight Loss Culture

Medical Community Logic

So, as I have written about a few times in the past month, I had some recent bad experience with my doctor and I've been trying to decide what to do.

I have an eating disorder. Technically EDNOS (eating disorder not otherwise specified) but it most closely resembles bulimia even though I don't physically purge at this point.

I have diabetes (along with other endocrine malfunctions) and so the guilt gets heaped on me double with my eating disorder. I have it under better control than I used to, but I'm food insecure, so sometimes when I'm having to ration food, the E.D. part of my brain starts praising me for not eating, repeating the old "hunger hurts but starvation works" mantra. Eventually, I stop feeling the physical hunger and become kind of detached from reality. When I eventually eat, it is generally not something approved by the American Diabetes Association. It might not even be in particularly large quantities, at least not for a person who doesn't have diabetes, but since I'm supposed to curb my carbs, it ends up spiking my blood sugar and elevating my A1C.

I wanted to freaking punch my doctor when my last blood test came back with slightly elevated triglycerides and she had the audacity to ask me if I had been "indulging in treats." I've told her I'm food insecure. I snapped at her that given that I'm food insecure, as I've already told her, any damn food is an "indulgence." No, I'm not sitting in front of the soap operas gorging on bonbons, which is, for whatever reason, what we fat ladies are always supposed to eat. I doubt I've ever eaten a dozen bonbons in my entire 53 (mostly fat) years on this planet.

I'm so numbed out by a lifetime of disappointment and abuse that I literally can't cry anymore. These days when something bad happens I say "well, here we go again" and I withdraw. Anger tends to be the only thing that prevents me from doing myself in. That and the fact that my son still needs me.

Honestly, I'm disappointed as fuck that with as progressive a state as Colorado is supposed to be, I have found exactly zero doctors in the Denver/Boulder area with a Health at Every Size approach. The doctor that I'm currently seeing (and I'm probably going to go back to my previous doctor) does not provide, as she claims, a "safe space" for larger people. Oh, on the first visit she acted like she's going to treat me with a semblance of humanity, but by the third visit, out came the old "my patients who have had weight loss surgery are all doing very well" hype. Yeah, providing a bench so bigger people don't have to squeeze into a small chair with arms does not make you size friendly. 

Well, Lady, after a month of stewing over this shit, I've come to the conclusion that it is not this fat broad's fault that you suck at taking a larger person's blood pressure. My old doc may have been half-assed, but his staff was top tier. Even though my current doctor is very thorough, I can't stand her attitude. I think I'm better off with the half-assed dude. He only made me want to punch him about half the time.

I feel guilty about firing this doctor because if it weren't for her, I'd never have found out that I have a uterus full of fibroids and polyps, and it needs to come out because it increases my risk of uterine cancer. I wouldn't have mentioned the post-menopausal bleeding to my old doctor, mostly because I'm not comfortable discussing that kind of crap with men. Unfortunately, the doctor who will probably be performing the hysterectomy is a man, but the procedure he uses involves less invasive methods and therefore less healing time, which is an excellent selling point.

I don't know if I should tell my current doctor why I'm not returning, or if I should just ghost. I really don't much want to talk to her again. I doubt she'll learn anything from what I have to say anyway. She could have been a great fit, if only she'd actually lived up to her promise of providing a safe space for larger people and not been a lying liar shilling for weight loss surgeons.

The pressure on women to appear youthful, thin, and pretty throughout our entire lives is based on extremely sexist ideals, and even supposedly progressive women buy into these ideals without question. We are supposed to be a certain kind of pretty to please men. 

Younger women tend to be more compliant than mature women, so women are supposed to aspire to look young, even if we were born during the Roosevelt administration. As it happens, I was born during the Johnson administration. So, expecting me to look like I'm an eighteen-year-old ingenue is unrealistic and offensive as fuck to boot. But, this leads me to my next point.

A smaller, more slender body type tends to be associated with youth and, therefore, vulnerability and compliance. Women are supposed to aspire to appear delicate and fragile rather than sturdy. As well, women tend to gain weight after giving birth. Mothers tend to give more attention to their children than to their husband. A woman who is focusing her attention on nurturing children rather than pleasing her lord and master is not to be desired. So, even if a woman has ten children (i.e. Catherine Dickens*), she is to aspire to have a maiden's body.

A larger body type has come to be associated with gluttony. Thus, a large woman is seen as focusing on feeding her own appetites rather than accommodating the desires of men.  

(*Charles Dickens, amazing writer though he may have been, was more than a  bit of a shit when it came to his wife, Catherine, whom he denigrated for having become fat in the course of their marriage, in which she gave birth to ten children. Dickens' eleventh child was the product of his affair with Ellen Ternan.)

Image Source

The push for a chiseled, athletic body type in both men and women also has roots in the ideals of the Aryan Superman stereotype, such as in this image from the cover of a 1938 publication. Encouragement of an often impossibly slender and youthful kind of beauty by any means necessary is a holdover from the Nazi idea of a perfected (white) race. I am certain that weight loss surgery would be lauded by Dr. Mengele himself.

Image Source

Conversely, this image of a middle-aged Jewish man with pronounced jowls and a double chin is touted as undesirable and to be eradicated.

Ageism is also inherent in the push to retain youthful slenderness throughout the entirety of one's life.

The medical community should be ashamed of themselves. Their intolerance keeps larger people from seeking care until their situation becomes catastrophic. The fact that only fat people who are sick tend to seek medical care allows the medical community to perpetuate the lie that fat = sick. Further, to treat an ill and frightened person who has come seeking help with shame and scorn is the opposite of doing no harm.

In modern times, poor people are more likely to be heavy than those in the upper class. Poor people tend to be unable to afford medical care and thus are only seen when their situation has become catastrophic, allowing doctors to argue that they have brought their misfortune upon themselves by not seeking preventative care.

The medical community likes to claim that weight loss surgery (stomach amputation) is a low-risk procedure. It is not. Here is some food for thought regarding weight loss surgery, courtesy of Big Fat Science. Few other elective procedures come with this much risk attached.

The medical community is not infallible. They also used to believe that trepanning and thalidomide were miraculous medical interventions, and look how well those turned out.

The medical community needs to embrace the Hippocratic Oath to "first do no harm," even if this means accepting that most of their patients will never be perfect. They need to treat all of their patients with compassion and respect, even the patient who is so addicted to nicotine that she can't stop herself from smoking although she has emphysema or has had part of a lung removed. (Both people I knew, as it happens.) 

Even the alcoholic who can't stop drinking although he has cirrhosis of the liver. 

Even the drug addict. 

Even the fat person who actually does eat enormous amounts of food. Most fat people do not, in fact, eat more than thin or mid-size people. I've known a few thin people who could easily eat more than I do. 

Even the diabetic who eats nothing but simple carbs. 

People's behavior is more complex than just flipping a switch. There are psychological as well as physical components. And with fat people, trying to control their weight through deprivation dieting generally leads to--you guessed it--weight regain and then some. This post on starvation syndrome is worth a look.

Diets don't work, mutilation of a healthy digestive system is unconscionable, and people are the size they are for a variety of reasons. We need to reject the sexist, racist, classist, and ageist notion that Number Twelve should look Just Like You. 

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It: Poverty Kills

Believe it or not, people with psychiatric dysfunctions get angry and frustrated about situational stuff too. There is an actual person here behind the broken brain. I'm not just symptoms of my synapses. I may not be a genius, but I know when shit ain't right, and it hasn't been right for a long time.

People love to tell folks "Just" do this or "just" do that, and then it's on to blame the victim if the person can't "just" do what they suggested.

I've had bipolar disorder since I hit puberty, which was when I was nine years old. I can remember my feelings becoming really intense. I thought it happened to everybody. I remember hating what my body was becoming because unlike everyone said, I wasn't stupid. I knew the way guys were going to treat me just because I had visible breasts now, and I hated it so much.

I get angry with having to take medicine all the time, and I don't even have to take that much on the scale of things, but I have so much shit wrong with me. Most of it is chronic shit. Diabetes is serious, but mine is well-controlled. My family has cardiovascular problems out the wazoo. If I have a major stroke, I hope it kills me outright. I don't want to live for years with declining physical health and decreasing cognition the way my father did.

I feel like I'm being punished for my health problems, and it makes me furious. Nobody should be forced to live in poverty because they've lost their strength. I used to be very strong physically. I didn't know just how strong I was. I could carry cases of beer up three flights of stairs and only be minorly winded, rest for a moment, and go back for more. I was a beast!

I could work 16 hours caring for immobile and combative patients. 

Now I become fatigued and sometimes confused with minimal exertion.

It frustrates and upsets me greatly.

I was never able to work day jobs because of my screwed-up brain. I don't sleep well at night. I actually do like my delivery driver job well enough, but it isn't a stable income. Some nights its busy, other nights I'm making five bucks an hour. 

If it weren't for my son, I would quit taking all my medications including my insulin and be dead in a month. I'm not saying this to be extreme or to look for attention. I'm simply past the point where I can convince myself that "there's a better tomorrow around the corner." I don't think there is for me. I pretty much think the rest of my life is going to be more of the same. I'd like to enjoy life, but it's way too stressful. Some of us are not the "favorite children." I'm physically unattractive and not particularly charismatic. Nobody's going to come to my rescue.

I don't want people adulating me or fawning over me. Most of the time I kind of want to be left alone. I want to be treated with basic respect. I want a modest, comfortable place to live. I want to know I have enough food available. I want to be able to have a little enjoyment. I just want a chance.

Mental illness killed off a lot of my chances when I was younger. But it isn't mental illness that makes me consider suicide these days. It's circumstances. And if anyone thinks its okay for people to be wondering where their next meal is coming from or if they'll have a place to live or thinks that people who can no longer physically work hard jobs with long hours deserve to live in poverty, you need to check your shit.

I'm not an atheist. I believe there is a higher power. However, I'm a deist rather than a theist. I believe that higher power is a creator energy. I don't believe it (or they) are involved in the lives of us lowly hairless apes. We're kind of on our own. So, telling me to "trust in god" doesn't work. I tried that, and I was treated like crap by his followers because I had some questions and some ideas, and I liked hard rock and metal. Kind of put me off the whole "trust in god" bit when people were spreading rumors that I was a "devil worshiper", oddly enough.

If there is a deity who monitors our behavior, I believe I will be judged on my actions. I try to treat others with basic consideration. I'd like to do more, but right now there's nothing I really can do.

I don't believe that suicide is "a sin" and I wouldn't want anything to do with a deity who was so cruel that they condemned someone hurting enough to commit suicide to eternal torture. I don't think that suicide is "selfish" or "weak" or "cowardly." Suicide happens when a person is at the end of their rope and has no hope. Perhaps if people extended compassion instead of derision to their fellow human, including those fellow humans who aren't pretty or popular, some lives might be saved along the way.

That's my rant for today. I have a grain of salt for you to take it with.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It: Never Enough

I'm a hard worker, but it's not enough. You also have to be pretty, cheerful, tidy and physically active. If you are a woman, you are to be just sexy enough, never frumpy or slutty. If you are a woman, you are not to look a day over thirty, no matter how old you are. If you have psychological glitches, you are to either hide them, deny them, or medicate them away. You will always be perfectly compliant. You will not weigh more or less than the number determined for your height on the arbitrary chart. You will exercise in the prescribed manner each day, never mind if your ass just worked your fifth twelve hour shift of the week and you've only had two or three hours of sleep every day.

Should you fail to comply with these edicts, it does not matter how hard you work or what good you do in the world, you are a lazy, worthless piece of shit, and you will be shamed until you either comply or commit suicide because you feel so fucking worthless.

This is why larger people avoid going to the damn doctor. Because medical school teaches doctors to treat a chart, not a patient.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~