Get A Grip

By Anonymous

So, you think you’re fat?
You hate your midriff right?
You think all anyone sees is those wobbly bits?
You’re depressed because you were a skinny kid and now you’re growing up and your belly’s growing too.

Yeah well. Fuck you.

You see the teenagers shopping in H&M and you wish you had their spindly arms and their invisible waistlines that haven’t yet become womanly. You wish you were smaller, a little bit lighter? Just a couple of pounds less and you’d be happy? Would you?

You cried when you went from a 10 to a 12 and the dress you bought in college stopped looking cute. You look at girls who are smaller than you and you hate them. You look at women who are bigger than you and you’re glad you don’t look like that. You look in the mirror and make wishes. You can’t help yourself, can you?


I’m 18 stone. I’m one of ‘those’ women. I was born big and I’ve been big ever since. I used to try and get smaller but then I gave up because it was deeply tedious. Much more so than being big. At the end of my teens I was 15 stone but I’ve eaten since then so I grew. I heard a cab driver say in Pakistani ‘no, fat like an American.’ and I knew he was talking about me, I was the only one there. He didn’t know I could speak the lingo, I know the word for fat in 17 languages. I didn’t mind that much, his eyes were kind even though his words weren’t. It’s your eyes that get me down, it’s you that makes me nearly almost sort of hate myself.

You hate yourself, you hate your body, you obsessively tug and push and suck in your soft bits. You feel sorry for me because you know that if my hatred is 4 dress sizes bigger than yours, it must be all consuming. It’s not though. I don’t hate myself, I don’t have time. I hate everyone else, I find that a lot more satisfying. Your obsession with your body is yours to keep. I’m too busy, I’d rather have a sandwich. You know what tastes better than self-loathing? Literally everything.

When I get on a bus, every pair of eyes sends the same signal to the brain and they say ‘whoa, she is FAT, caps lock fat, enormous, huge.’ I know what that expression means, I speak fluent asshole.

You ‘think’ you’re fat. I actually am.

I’m sexy though. I’m blonde, I’m hilarious (it would be rude not to be). I have an amazing personality, I have to, if I didn’t have a positive outlook I would be 22 stone.

My gay friend calls me jello-flabulous, he thinks it’s funny, it kind of is. Imagine what I’m called behind my expansive back. People sneer at me if I eat cake in front of them. My mum bought me a deep fat fryer for Christmas and the room went quiet. I get huge portions and waiters look down their noses at me. I’m a size 20.

I think being fat is similar in a way, to being incredibly beautiful. Both states present an open invitation for feedback. Lots of people (I say ‘people’ I think it’s pretty much limited to those same ‘people’ who leave sexually aggressive comments on YouTube videos of underage girls), have taken on the noble role of reminding me that I’m fat, usually from a safe distance (all distances are safe guys, I’m not going to fight you). I think they worry, lest I forget, that I might suddenly slam on a bikini and do an impromptu fashion shoot. Thanks for the memo, but can’t you tell by my shawl, by the waddle in my step, by my averted gaze and rebellious pose that I’m quite aware of my size and how you feel about it.

My last boyfriend thought I should be grateful to him. He loved me, I think, my personality and all that. But deep down he wanted thin me and he put up with my body. The worst thing was – and this is pretty bad for your insides ladies – I actually was grateful. Well fucking grateful. I even said thanks sometimes. Let me tell you, if you want a fast track to feeling like shit. If you want to take the highway to an ego fuck, that’s the shortcut, friends, right there.

Since then I’ve been fetishized, photographed, laughed out of bed and slapped about, but I don’t blame my size for that, I blame dickheads and my own inability to spot them in time.

So the next time you see a big girl, check your attitude, figure out what you’re saying about yourself when you say ‘fuck me, she’s fat.’

I’m fat. You’re insecure. Let’s both just get a grip.

One thought on “Get A Grip

  1. Pingback: Skinny Bitch

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