Fat Chance Read Online Free
Author: Brandi Kennedy
hold onto will be in my ability to change clothes and pretend it wasn't me.
In the bathroom on my lunch break, I hover to the best of my ability, feeling the toilet give just a little under the backs of my heavy thighs. Short as I am, I don't have much choice about how much of me is touching the toilet; they were mounted for taller women than me, certainly, or maybe for women who can levitate. Being too heavy to levitate, it doesn't matter much to me; and anyway I'm still a little depressed over Jackson, over my damaged history with Rick, over the childhood that set me up with this sense of weak vulnerability.
I debate with myself for a while, thinking through the merits of the various diet plans I've been on during my adulthood. Each has its good points, things that I liked, but each has its own set of faults too, ways that the plan just didn't work for me. Finished, I stand in front of the mirror to check my makeup and be sure that my dress is still looking as it should be; As I stare into my own eyes, I realize with shock what my motive is in the dieting thought process.
I want to diet successfully; I want to watch the pounds fall away, I want to buy new clothes over and over. Ordinarily, this would be a healthy thing for an overweight woman to crave, but I've just realized how wrong my personal motives are. Better health is nice, but that isn't the motive here. I want to be thin enough to wipe the inevitable self-satisfied smirk from Rick's face at the reunion. I want to slowly become visible to Jackson, pound by pound and inch by inch. I want to be thin enough to wear backless dresses, sleeveless tops, skirts that stop before my knees instead of after. And then, I want to look through him as he has done to me, whether his physical preferences are wrong or not. I am fully aware that we all have a certain look we are attracted to; I myself have certain preferences.
Still, how shallow is it that all men seem to want big perfect breasts floating over a slender waist and round hips shaking as they get carried around on long silken legs? In that moment, I've forgotten that some men really do like a larger woman; I've forgotten that some men are actually more attracted to a woman whose bones are softened by flesh, whose body is rounder and more voluptuous. In that moment, I hate all men, each for his own part in making me feel invisible and unworthy because of the number on my scale or the number on my clothing tags.
In that moment, when I realize fully where my thoughts have gone, I hate myself too. I'm not just fat, I'm weak. I'm giving the power of my own self-esteem to others, expecting everyone around me to define me, to make me worthy. This simply cannot go on, and I know it, but for now, I have several hours left in the work day. Determined to get a better grip on myself, I take a deep breath, staring into my face in the mirror. I plaster on a moderately content look, and I go back to work.
Chapter Four
My forced good cheer only lasted through the work day; by the time I got home I was feeling a little hopeless and a lot bitter. As I chose and cooked food for my dinner, I berated myself for everything that led to my current life and body, including the simple human need to eat.
Mmmhmm, my inner voice chanted. That's what you need, chubby. You need mayo on your sandwich.
Like the noise of a broken record, I kept hearing a running commentary in my mind, a sound track of hurtful things from the past. Interlaced with memories of things Rick had said, there were other memories; a boy I'd liked who'd teased me for having breasts in third grade, a girl I'd been friends with in middle school who had suddenly turned on me and called me a whale when she'd joined the in-crowd.
Even in the medical profession, I'd been ridiculed and made to feel somewhat inhuman because of my body. Once, when I was young and maybe a little naive about how society saw me, I went to a doctor
In the bathroom on my lunch break, I hover to the best of my ability, feeling the toilet give just a little under the backs of my heavy thighs. Short as I am, I don't have much choice about how much of me is touching the toilet; they were mounted for taller women than me, certainly, or maybe for women who can levitate. Being too heavy to levitate, it doesn't matter much to me; and anyway I'm still a little depressed over Jackson, over my damaged history with Rick, over the childhood that set me up with this sense of weak vulnerability.
I debate with myself for a while, thinking through the merits of the various diet plans I've been on during my adulthood. Each has its good points, things that I liked, but each has its own set of faults too, ways that the plan just didn't work for me. Finished, I stand in front of the mirror to check my makeup and be sure that my dress is still looking as it should be; As I stare into my own eyes, I realize with shock what my motive is in the dieting thought process.
I want to diet successfully; I want to watch the pounds fall away, I want to buy new clothes over and over. Ordinarily, this would be a healthy thing for an overweight woman to crave, but I've just realized how wrong my personal motives are. Better health is nice, but that isn't the motive here. I want to be thin enough to wipe the inevitable self-satisfied smirk from Rick's face at the reunion. I want to slowly become visible to Jackson, pound by pound and inch by inch. I want to be thin enough to wear backless dresses, sleeveless tops, skirts that stop before my knees instead of after. And then, I want to look through him as he has done to me, whether his physical preferences are wrong or not. I am fully aware that we all have a certain look we are attracted to; I myself have certain preferences.
Still, how shallow is it that all men seem to want big perfect breasts floating over a slender waist and round hips shaking as they get carried around on long silken legs? In that moment, I've forgotten that some men really do like a larger woman; I've forgotten that some men are actually more attracted to a woman whose bones are softened by flesh, whose body is rounder and more voluptuous. In that moment, I hate all men, each for his own part in making me feel invisible and unworthy because of the number on my scale or the number on my clothing tags.
In that moment, when I realize fully where my thoughts have gone, I hate myself too. I'm not just fat, I'm weak. I'm giving the power of my own self-esteem to others, expecting everyone around me to define me, to make me worthy. This simply cannot go on, and I know it, but for now, I have several hours left in the work day. Determined to get a better grip on myself, I take a deep breath, staring into my face in the mirror. I plaster on a moderately content look, and I go back to work.
Chapter Four
My forced good cheer only lasted through the work day; by the time I got home I was feeling a little hopeless and a lot bitter. As I chose and cooked food for my dinner, I berated myself for everything that led to my current life and body, including the simple human need to eat.
Mmmhmm, my inner voice chanted. That's what you need, chubby. You need mayo on your sandwich.
Like the noise of a broken record, I kept hearing a running commentary in my mind, a sound track of hurtful things from the past. Interlaced with memories of things Rick had said, there were other memories; a boy I'd liked who'd teased me for having breasts in third grade, a girl I'd been friends with in middle school who had suddenly turned on me and called me a whale when she'd joined the in-crowd.
Even in the medical profession, I'd been ridiculed and made to feel somewhat inhuman because of my body. Once, when I was young and maybe a little naive about how society saw me, I went to a doctor
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