What the Wii Fit SHOULD be.

A screen shot of the Wii hula hoop game.

FUN.

Period.

I had the opportunity to be one of the first to try out the new Wii Fit suite at my number 2 daughter’s school today.  As a “special treat,” the mothers who attend the weekly parents’ group got to take it over for almost an hour.

I had reservations about even participating.  For one thing, I’ve know about the things I would have issues with concerning the system for months now.  For another, I have very little experience with video game consoles in general, so I felt like a right idiot even being in the same room as these things!

But I have to admit: I had a great time.

Caroline, one of the other mothers, happens to own one, so she patiently explained to me how it worked.  And then one of the school employees and I beat the pants off of her and her daughter at tennis!  ;)

(I also managed to bash Natasha [Caroline's daughter] in the arm with my control thingie during the game.  I felt SO bad!)

Then I moved over to the other console and played the hula hoop game pictured above with the lady who runs the library.  Oh man, is that ever addictive!

And I have to admit that when I was done, I had that pleasant ache in my hips that I get when exercising.  That little one that is like my muscles are saying to me “We’re still here and we still work!  Thank you for moving us a little today!”

And there I was, in a room with 5 other women, moving my body and having FUN, and it occurred to me what a wonderful thing this could have been.

I say “could have been,” because the fact that I had fun didn’t negate the fact that there are serious problems with the game.  That still remains a fact.

It remains a fact that it follows the bullshit BMI standards.

It remains a fact that anyone so much as one pound into the “overweight” category gets a little Mii that has a stomach hanging down to its knees.  (In other words, if you’re not “normal,” you’re OMG TEH FATZ UR GONNA DIE!!!!ELEVENTY-ONE!!!11!1!)

It remains a fact that it’s touted as being a “weapon in the war against obesity.”

The fact that it also happens to be fun doesn’t change those facts.

But it could be so much more.

And that’s what went through my head as I was wiggling my hips and swinging my arms and doing things that made my body feel good.  That this Wii Fit thing could have been so much more than what it is.

And it’s such a shame that it wasn’t.

Invasion of the Fat Police

I remember reading about this just recently, before Coffee Catholic was removed from the Fat Liberation feed.  I remember thinking at the time: it’s only a matter of time before we see them here! A) Because that’s how these things work: they start it in one area and then expand it everywhere else.  And B) because the NorthEast – where I live – is infamous for being the fattest area in England (note I said England; that’s different from saying Britain as a whole.  As a whole, Scotland is infamous for being the fattest in Britain).

The time?  Has come.

I was in the town centre today, doing my shopping.  I had to walk from one far end of the town centre to the other, and there they were, smack dab in the middle.  Big ole trailer, with huge signs saying:

WHAT’S YOUR LABEL???

Luckily for them, they didn’t approach me. (I say luckily for THEM, because if they had?  They’d be shitting out of two holes by the time I got done with them.  I’m SO not in the mood for this kind of shit today, and I’m filled with enough righteous indignation AND information to back me up that I wouldn’t be surprised if there were tears.)

But how bloody obvious?  What’s your label? Yep, that’s right, because EVERYBODY has to have a fucking label, right?  Oh no, can’t have people walking around without them!  They might think they’re…. *gasp!*… normal!!!!  Labels for this, labels for that… we’re all made to feel like we’ve got to fit perfectly into these tiny holes that the great mysterious “they” have set forth for us.  And if we don’t?  We’re WRONG.  We have to be FIXED.  CORRECTED.

It just pisses me right the fuck off.  We’re bombarded with images and information every fucking day of our lives telling us that WE’RE the abberation.  WE are what’s wrong in the world.

Wars, disease, terrorists, poverty, famine, child molesters, murderers… and WE’RE what’s wrong with the world?  All because we take up just a little bit more space than what “they” think we ought to?

Yeah.  Slapping a label on it is SO going to fix it.

Weight Loss, Denial, and Body Image

(This is an edited version of a post I put on my personal blog last week.  So some of you have already seen this.  So my apologies to those that have already seen this, but I DID warn you it was going to be showing up here!!!  :)   )

I’ve lost weight.

I don’t know how much exactly – I haven’t weighed myself in almost a year.  I DO know that I’ve gone from a UK size 20 (US 16) to an 18 (US 14) {according to the size conversion charts on the Evans website}.  To put this into perspective for you: I haven’t been a US size 14 since I WAS 14.  I’m 32 now.

I honestly don’t know how this happened.  Not much has changed, other than the fact that the kids were home for their 6 week summer vacation, and now they’re back at school.  I haven’t drastically changed my eating habits or my activity levels.  I haven’t gone off or on medications.  My stress level is high, but to be perfectly honest, it’s ALWAYS high.  (I just don’t always TALK about it.)

And the fact is, I’ve been denying the weight loss for a while now.  People keep asking me if I’ve lost weight, and I keep deflecting the issue, saying things like “oh, you’re just not used to seeing me in clothes that actually fit, as opposed to clothes that are 4-6 sizes too big.”  Not just to deflect the issue (although since I’m finally facing the honesty in this situation, that IS part of it), but because it’s true.  In the last year (less than, actually), I have almost completely changed the way I dress.  For years – since I was a teenager – I purposely wore clothes that were too big for me.  I thought that by hiding my body, I was somehow making it more acceptable.  Like if they couldn’t see my body, they wouldn’t know just how fat I really was, and that was better than actually letting people see me.  But now I actually DO wear clothes that fit.

But the realization that I’ve lost weight hasn’t come from people commenting on it, or the sizes of the clothes I’ve been buying.  It’s come from wearing clothes that I’ve had for years — and suddenly they don’t fit like before.  My favorite jeans have suddenly become baggy.  My embellished cargo pants have suddenly become loose enough that while they’re not falling down or anything, I can pull them off without undoing the button or zipper.  My favorite sweater in the whole world has become so big on me that it’s annoying rather than comforting.  I ”had” to go buy myself something else while I was in town last week because it was bothering me that badly.  (On that note, does anybody have any idea if I could alter the sweater?  Like, take it in?  I’d much rather do that – even if I had to pay the alterations place in town to do it properly – than get rid of it.  I seriously love this sweater to death.)

I’ve finally had to face up to the fact that I’ve lost weight.

But now that I have, I realized something.  I didn’t want to have lost weight.  I kept denying it because I didn’t want it to be true.

Yeah, um… let me repeat that: I kept denying that I lost weight because I didn’t want it to be true.

Now HOW fucked up is THAT???

But now that I’ve admitted that to myself, I had to examine why.  Why the hell would I NOT want to lose weight?  I mean, isn’t that what I’m SUPPOSED to want?  Even the most die-hard FA’ers would admit that while they strive for fat acceptance, they’d be lying if they said they didn’t WANT to be thin. Or thinnER.  It’s pounded into our heads on a daily basis, and even if you agree with all the tenents of Fat Acceptance (and I DO), it’s almost impossible to live your life completely unaffected by societal views on body image.  You’d have to live your life in some sort of bubble, and I sure as hell haven’t been.

The one thing I worried about was gaining weight.  In my head, I know that gaining weight wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to me.  But it’s that irrational fear of taking over the whole world that a lot of us can relate to. It was only after seriously reflecting on my weight fluctuations in my adult years that I realized that it probably wouldn’t even happen.  Even with weight fluctuations, my body keeps going back to the same-ish weight.  200 lbs, give or take a few.  My weight has gone up to 230 and down to 190 (barring pregnancy weights, of which the highest was somewhere around the 270+ mark, but the majority of that was water retention from pre-eclampsia), but I always seem to go back to 200 without any real effort on my own part.  (And the weight gains, up to 230?  Have almost always been right after having a baby.  Once the baby is walking age, I always seem to go back down to 200 without doing anything.  Correlation?  Methinks so.)  I never even gave any real thought to losing weight.  I’ve never been able to lose a significant amount of weight (more than 20 lbs.) without a superhuman effort or living through an abusive relationship.  So that?  Didn’t even enter into it, as far as I was concerned.

But here I am, I’ve lost weight, and I’ve had to admit to myself that I didn’t want it to be true.

Am I afraid of weight-related craziness?  Am I afraid that, now that I’ve lost some weight, I’m going to become obsessed again?  Start dieting again, because after all, I’ve just lost weight without doing anything… just imagine how much weight I could lose if I actually tried?! (/sarcasm)

Or am I afraid of how I’m going to feel if I gain weight again?  Am I going to slip back down the oh-so-slippery slope to self-loathing again?

If I’m perfectly honest, that’s one road I really don’t want to go down again.  I am feeling good about myself for the first time in my life, and it is not because person X told me I should be, it’s because I’ve started to realize for myself that I am not the worthless, ugly freak I thought I was.  I certainly don’t think I’m all that and a bag of chips, but I realize that I just might be okay the way I am, after all.  That maybe – just maybe – the way the world sees me just might not be as important as I always thought it was.  That maybe my husband (and most, if not all, of the boyfriends/friends/family that preceded him) was (were) telling the truth when he (they) said that he (they) thought that I was beautiful and desirable and funny and and and.  To go back to hating myself?  Well, I’d rather be dead.  Seriously.

Maybe it was a combination.  I don’t know.  I just know that I honestly did not want to admit that I had lost weight.  And while I’m sure there’s a big huge revelation in there somewhere, I’m not sure exactly where it is.

Other people’s reactions to my weight loss have been… uncomfortable would be the best way to put it.  “You’re doing great!”  Um… I’m not DOING anything differently now than I was a year ago.  The big changes I’ve made in my life have been internal changes – changing my thinking, changing the way I react to certain situations.  Nothing physical.

My SIL Kirsty (who, for the record, is only 12) automatically assumed that I’d made some big diet changes.  Um… not exactly.  “You’re just like my mom,” she said to me yesterday.  “She used to drink coffee all day long, and now she only drinks one or two cups.”  I went on to explain to her that I haven’t done ANYTHING differently in the last year.  I eat the same way I always have, the only change has been how I approach food.  Food is no longer my enemy.  It is not something to be fought; it is there to fuel my body.  I eat what my body wants when my body wants it.  (To an extent; we live on a limited income and sometimes what I REALLY want, we don’t have.  So I pick what I want out of what we’ve GOT.)  I place no restrictions on food.  Food is food, period.  It’s not good or bad, it just IS.

(Having the in-laws over yesterday was a great opportunity to preach some HAES, I must say!  It was quite cool, actually.)

And seeing my reflection has become strange.  Obviously the weight didn’t fall off overnight, but I honestly didn’t notice it until the last couple of weeks.  And suddenly I can see the change in myself and it’s just… weird.  I look at myself and it doesn’t even look like ME.

Hubby thinks it’s just me letting go of most of the negativity in my life.  And he may well have a point; I honestly just don’t know.

I just don’t know what to think about all this.  Not so much the weight loss itself (although, on that note, do y’all think it’s possible for fat to re-distrubute itself this late in my life?  Because that would make so much more sense than me spontaneously losing weight), but my reactions to it.

Friday Fun: FAIL!!!!

All found via Fail Blog.  This one may be old news to some of you, but it’s new to me and I can’t stop looking at it.  :D

One More Time: It’s Not Your Body’s Fault ____ Doesn’t Fit.

While out shopping today, I had an opportunity to remind myself of this fact.  And would you believe, it all started with a simple bangle?

I was getting birthday presents for both my SIL and my daughter (SIL turned 12 today, daughter #3 will be 8 on Sunday) and I just happened to pass by the jewelry section of the store.  I love bangles – always have – so I figured I’d give one a try.

Didn’t fit.

Tried another one… that one didn’t fit either.

Same thing with the next, and the next, and the next.  I literally tried on every type of bangle they had, and NONE of them would fit.

The thing is, I have a large bone structure.  I inherited it from both parents, really.  Every family member save one that I know has a large bone structure, regardless of whether we’re talking about my mother’s or father’s side of my family.  (And that one family member?  Was very sickly as a baby, and is now the dwarf of the family.  She’s the shortest and smallest out of all of us.)

So this means that I’ve always had large hands.  Even when I was younger and thinner, I had hands that seemed huge to me.  Of course, at the time, I thought that losing weight would be the solution to even that problem.  But the more I really take a step back and analyze these things, the more I realize that’s just another part and parcel of my Fantasy of Being Thin.  Losing weight would not have magically made my hands thin and dainty.  That is simply something my hands will never be, regardless of whether I weigh 100, 200, 300, 400 or even more pounds.  I will always have large, strong hands, because that’s what my genes have told my body to grow.

And it means that even bangles from the “fat store” (i.e. Evans) don’t fit over my hands.  I can’t even get them past my knuckles.  And if by some miracle I manage to FORCE a bangle over my knuckles?  I can’t get it off again.  I’ve been wearing one of my daughter #2′s pink bangles for a couple of weeks now for that very reason.  The two youngest ones didn’t believe me when I said I couldn’t get them over my knuckles, so I decided to show them.  Bad mistake.  I managed to force it over my knuckles and now I can’t get it OFF!!!

But as I was standing there in Primark today, I was increasingly getting frustrated that I couldn’t put these damned things over my hands.  And, as I said, it didn’t matter where I get them from.  So my frustration wasn’t just borne out of one particular experience, it was a culmination of numerous experiences all resulting in the same thing:  I can’t have what I want, because the combination of my hands + babgles just doesn’t compute.

But it’s not the fault of my body.  It is not the fault of my size 18* (14 US) body that my KNUCKLES are too big to get a bracelet over them.  It’s the fault of the designers who don’t even take variations in BONE STRUCTURE into account, never mind BODY SIZE and SHAPE.

So, after some yoga breathing (or, to be perfectly honest, what I IMAGINE to be yoga breathing), I simply accepted the fact that the bangles were not going to fit me, and went on my merry way.  But it was a good reminder for myself – and for all of you out there – that when you’re trying to find clothes, shoes, and even accessories and you’re having problems of one form or another:

It’s not YOUR BODY’S fault.  It’s not your fault that designers seem to think there’s only one mold for anything and don’t take variations of ANYTHING into account when doing the actual designing.  It doesn’t matter if it’s clothes, shoes, bracelets, or whatever.  If it doesn’t fit (or doesn’t fit properly), it’s not your body’s fault.

* – Look for another post soon regarding body size.  I’ve got one brewing, but it’s not quite ready yet.  You have been warned.  ;)

Friday Fun: Masculine or Feminine?

Your result for The Bem Sex Role Inventory Test…

Androgynous

You scored high on both masculinity and femininity. You have a strong personality exhibiting characteristics of both traditional sex roles.

Take The Bem Sex Role Inventory Test at HelloQuizzy

Oooooooooooookayyyyyyyyy……..

(To be totally fair and completely honest, I totally stole this from Vesta44 at Big Fat Delicious.)

Morning Television: Part Two

Now for the REAL reason I went on the GMTV website in the first place.

LK Today

Technically it’s Lorraine Kelly‘s own show, tacked on at the end of the GMTV airtime.  Again, this is something I don’t normally watch, but today I happened to catch the very last segment while having my breakfast and waiting for what I DID want to watch.*

It was a fashion segment, mainly about fall-to-winter dresses, with a few little snippets of accessorizing thrown in.  I went to the website looking to see if they had a clip, but unfortunately, they don’t have THAT clip.  There are some other fashion-related clips on there, so if that’s your thing, go for it.

What struck me was something the fashion expert said when she introduced the plus-size model.

It’s the shape of the clothes ON the body, not the size of the body itself that’s important.

Wait.  Did I hear that right?  Did a FASHION expert just make a size positive remark???

Honestly?  The entire segment was a joy to behold.  Even if I didn’t like some of the dresses they chose.  It was so refreshing to see a fashion expert talk about the clothes, and finding what suits you and that you like and going with that.  None of this “oh, but if you’re __________ you shouldn’t wear _________” shit.

It was only 5 minutes, but it was nice to see something so positive, especially after the day I had yesterday (I ended up having to take the youngest to the hospital following a sugar bowl-meets-floor accident).

* – I’m a geek.  I’m the only housewife I know that would rather be watching Britain A.D. than The Jeremy Kyle Show.  I absolutely loved it a few years back when we had Sky and I could watch The History Channel all damned day if I wanted to.

Morning Television: Part One

I started out with the idea of blogging about one particular thing, but when I went looking for clips of that one thing, I found something else that I hadn’t seen.  So this will be a two-part post.

Part One: Georgia Davis

From the video description: Georgia Davis weighs 33 stone [462 lbs] and is only 15.  She talks to Kate about her weight battle.  (Disclaimer: I’m not sure if everyone will be able to access the video.  I know some television websites will only allow IPs from the same country access the videos on their site, and I just don’t know whether GMTV is one of them.  So my apologies if that ends up being the case here.)

GMTV is on ITV from around 6 or so until just before 9 a.m. out here in the UK.  It’s the British equivalent of a Good Morning America, basically.  I don’t normally watch it.  For one thing, I’m too busy in the mornings to watch tv at all, but if it’s on, the kids have their cartoons and whatnot on.  So I didn’t actually see this until I went to the website looking for something else.  As soon as I saw the title, though, I knew I had to watch it.

What I saw filled me with so many mixed emotions I can’t even count them all.

First of all, it opens up with the female presenter talking about a “normal” person’s breakfast.  And then it pans to a spread of food.  6 sandwiches, 4 donuts, at least a dozen chocolate digestives, a slice of chocolate cake, a bowl of what looks like tortilla chips, and finally, a bowl of what looks like bran flakes.  The female presenter then goes on to inform you that all of this is what Miss Davis has for breakfast.

Setting the issue of Binge Eating Disorder aside for just a moment, what is the point of showing it all spread out like that?  Asking Miss Davis on camera what she normally has for breakfast would have sufficed.  The only reason I can think of that they would do it this way is to humiliate Miss Davis.  Not only is she coming on camera to talk about what is probably the foremost issue in her life at the moment, but hey, let’s humiliate her a little bit more, right?  She’s a fatty fatty two by four – she couldn’t possibly have any feelings, now could she?

Once the camera finally pans away from the food spread, the presenter continues introducing Miss Davis, saying “she admits that she uses food like a drug.”

Okay, that line bothers me.  I forget where I read this, but I admit it doesn’t come from me, originally: FOOD IS NOT A DRUG.  Equating food with drugs is like saying that food is something you need to completely cut out of your life because it’s doing you nothing but harm.

Take a closer look at those words.  Completely cut out, and it’s doing you nothing but harm.  What happens when you actually believe that food has no positive value whatsoever and you have to completely cut it out of your life?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Bueller?

You DIE, that’s what happens.

Now I’m not trying to say that nobody, nowhere, has an unhealthy relationship with food.  I’m not making a judgement on eating disorders or disordered eating at all.  It’s the language that bothers me.  To quote George Carlin: the quality of our thoughts are only as good as the quality of our language.  That’s why that line bothers me.  Not because of someone who already has an eating disorder, but for those who might be easily swayed by someone else’s language.  Like teenagers, for instance.  How many teenagers do you think would watch a video clip like this and automatically think to themselves “Must. Stop Eating. NOW.??  I honestly think the numbers would be frightening.

Then it goes on to show some photos with Miss Davis explaining what they are and how she got to this point.  She says that her father died when she was 5, and ever since then, she used food to fill the void that left her with.

I’m not going to knock the “using food” part.  Comfort eating exists, and for some people it is a problem.  That is a fact, for some people, regardless of their weight.  But what struck me was the photo of herself with her father.

She was already fat!!!!

This girl didn’t just eat herself into oblivion, she was already well on her way to being fat.  And from what I saw in that photo?  Unless they were force-feeding her pounds of lard, there’s something seriously medically wrong.  Thyroid tests, anyone?  ANY-FUCKING-ONE???

But oh no, this is all HER fault, right?  Her life went down the shithole at five years old, and it’s all her own fault that she’s fat now.  It couldn’t possibly be something that is totally beyond her control, simply exacerbated by an eating disorder?  Could it?

But they never even talk about that part.  The way they talk about this, it’s as if she was thin as a rail until she started doing this to herself.  To be fair, they never used the words “doing this to herself,” but that’s the meaning behind the language they DO use.  But they never even bring up the fact that in some of these photos, she’s obviously younger than 5 years old, and yet she’s already fat.  They never talk about her medical history whatsoever, other than the fact that her doctor told her she had to lose at least 20 stone (140 lbs.).

Oh, and another thing: her father?  Fat.

She goes on to talk in a pre-recorded segment about her eating patterns, and another woman appears on camera – they never explicitly say who she is, but I would guess that it’s her grandmother.  She talks about how they used to go on walks together but they can’t anymore, as Miss Davis can only walk a few feet before she’s out of breath.  But guess what: Grandma?  Is fat, too!

Then they show Miss Davis in front of her school, and she tells the camera that she was BANNED from the canteen at school because she was “eating the wrong things.”  I can just see the conversation now.

Head Teacher: Mrs. Davis, your daughter is too fat for our liking, and we’ve noticed she eats the “wrong” things, so we’ve decided she’s not allowed to eat at school at all.

Now, assuming that this is all 100% accurate and not this young girl’s self-hate blowing her eating habits all out of proportion (because that does happen), is going all the way to the other extreme really the way to go here?  Is this really the solution?  To completely deprive her of ALL food at school?

Then they finally go back to the studio, and they give you your first good glimpse of the girl and her mother.  And hey – wouldn’t you know it?  Mom’s fat, too!

So, let’s see…. Dad was fat… Grandma is fat… Mom’s fat… and yet we are still told that Miss Davis has done this all to herself?  We’re still meant to believe that her “misuse” of food is the ONLY reason she’s gotten to this point?  Seriously?

Am I the only person with eyes?  Are my glasses REALLY that good?

Oh but then it gets really good.  Now it’s the mother’s fault!  “Why didn’t you do anything to stop it?” the presenter asks her.

The mother goes on to explain that after her husband died, they were on a limited income, so their food choices were limited to bread and potatoes and the like.

So EVERY PERSON who eats bread and potatoes gets to be 460+ pounds?  Really?  Wow.  I guess the whole world is hallucinating my underweight husband whose favorite foods happen to be bread and potatoes.

“Was there a point where you said ‘okay, she’s TOO overweight now,’ and tried to make some changes in her diet?”

Like any mother who watches her child gain THIS much weight would just sit back and do nothing.  I mean seriously, folks, regardless of the outcome of the situation, it’s safe to assume that the mother did try.  But, contrary to popular brainwashing, weight is NOT a simple calories in/calories out equation.  If I were the one asking the questions?  It would be something along the lines of:

What did you do when you realized how far this was going?  And what was the outcome of that?

Apparently the girl is traveling to the U.S. to enroll in some sort of fat camp-cum-boarding school.  In theory, this sounds great.  She’ll be able to keep up with her schoolwork, she’ll get counseling (and if the death of her father seriously brought on B.E.D?  Counseling can’t be anything BUT a good thing), and she’ll learn about “healthy” eating and exercise.

I just wonder what it’s going to be like in reality.  I’ve seen some American “fat camps” on television, and they’re far from ideal.  The kids end up coming out of there worse off psychologically than they were when they went in.  They are beaten down in an effort to “help” them.  You know the kind of thing I’m talking about – telling these kids that their entire lives are already ruined simply because they happen to be fat.  That excess adipose tissue is the worst thing that could ever happen to them.  That they are worthless, unworthy of anything or anyone simply because of the number on the scale.

I really hope that doesn’t happen to her.

Here is a girl who needs medical attention – because she couldn’t have gotten that fat at 3, 4, and 5 years of age without there being something medically wrong as well.  But all anybody has said is that it is her own fault for “using food as a drug” and her mother’s fault for “not stopping it.”  Nobody nowhere has even brought up the possibility of there being a medical issue ON TOP OF her probable Binge Eating Disorder.

Oh yeah, but shaming fatties into thinness has had SUCH a positive effect so far, hasn’t it?

Friday Fun: Talk Like a Pirate Day

It be that time of year again, me mateys.  Today is September 19, and it be International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

From the FAQ on the official website:

Q. The big one: WHY?

A. Why not?

Talking like a pirate is fun. It’s really that simple. It adds a zest, a swagger, to your every day conversation. Do you need another reason?

Try it out. Let go, have a beer, burp in public. Say “Aarrr!!” Feels good, doesn’t it?

So grab yerself a beer, sit yer arse down, and have at it.

Savvy?

Guest blogger SugarLeigh: And they worry that FAT is going to bring down the country/world?!

When I first read this, it struck me so deeply that I just had to ask SugarLeigh if she’d let me repost this here as a guest post.  Fortunately she said yes.

Listen up, Fat Haters. I have a tale to tell you. I’m angry. I’m very, very angry.

There’s something you should know, Haters. There’s something every small-minded jerk should know, every one who ever judged someone, maybe even someone they love, on the basis of how they look, and who has fretted to them about their health or well-being based on an arbitrary standard of any kind.

I’ve known loss, Haters. I know where loss comes from. I know what loss feels like. I know helplessness, I know fear, I know despair. You’re afraid to lose them? Your barbs, your jeers, your diatribes, they’re well-intentioned? Because you want to keep them close to you?

Here’s the thing, Haters. You CAN’T keep them. They’re not yours. They are themselves, and their story, like yours, is always being written by their secret heart and the Universe, and the end of their tale is not yours to dictate.

My baby sister, sixteen. One of my dearest friends, twenty-three. A girl I hung out with for most of my freshman year of high school, who always had a ready smile, in her early twenties. A classmate of one of the girls I talk to on Dogster, who wrote poetry and said that pink was for manly men, won’t see the first day of eighth grade. And as of today, as it turns out, one of my sister’s closest pals and in fact, one of her pallbearers joins the list, and he was my sister’s age… she’d have been twenty.

Fat did not take them, Haters. Nor did drinking nor drugs, nor smoking nor lack of exercise nor poor oral hygiene nor any of the long list of behaviors we see fit to judge others on, because it might potentially shorten their lifespan.

Cars, Haters. We drive them every day. They mean more death than any of your fear-mongered points of loathing.

How. Dare. You. HOW DARE YOU sit there and nag at people you love, and make them cry, and make them hate themselves, and say it’s for their good?! HOW DARE YOU?! YOU SELFISH MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD PIECES OF VILE, ODIOUS SHIT!!!!!! YOU HAVE THEM. YOU CAN SEE THEM, SPEAK TO THEM, TOUCH THEM. WHAT THE FUCK MORE DO YOU WANT?!

I would give anything to hold my sister one more time. I would do anything if it meant I could tell my friend the things I never said, could have made right by him, could have heard him tell me what was bothering him that he didn’t want to talk about that day. ANYTHING. And you, you smarmy, smug, know-it-all wise-asses, you could be holding these people to you, could be telling them how much they mean in your life and that you don’t want them to go, could be kissing them, laughing with them, holding their hands, and WHAT are you doing instead? Making them feel like SHIT, and for WHAT?! So you can feel righteous?! Go. To. HELL. Rot and die there. Practice coprophagia and expire, horribly.

I HATE IT. I HATE IT. I HATE IT AND I CAN’T STAND IT AND IT MAKES ME ANGRY.

They were not perfect, but they were good. And they are not here, but many, many people who only cause hurt to others ARE.

That’s the deal, Haters. Selfish Ones. You don’t know how good you have it. And you never know when it’s going to be snatched away from you, either, nor how, so you should enjoy the Now to the very fullest. When that person walks away from you, angry, upset, crying, and you think “no, I’m not going to say anything, I’ll talk to him/her tomorrow,” did it ever occur to you that there might not BE tomorrow? You don’t always have it. You’re not guaranteed it. Do you want tears to be your legacy with that person?

Life is more complex than what can be contained by one single philosophy. Each person contains worlds within worlds. Even when someone we love is truly hurting themselves, perhaps abusing a drug, or self-cutting, or anything at all, is it hate and fear and rage, so-called “tough love,” that they need? One more voice in the cacophony of hurtful dialogue in their head? Or is it perhaps your understanding? The notion that someone is there for them when they can’t be there for themselves? Regardless of your personal stance on what someone looks like, or on health, or on Fat, you still can’t “hate someone for their own good.” And why the fuck would you waste your time on hating when there’s so much love to be had before we die?

You have them. For a brief and precious instant, they are yours to hold. Do both of you a favor. Shut your mouth. And HOLD THEM.

kthnxbai.

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