II. Fat Ass I gained fifty pounds. No sugar coating it from me at all… I gained fifty pounds. In a month and a half from when I moved to Melbourne up until I started at my new school. I ate… and ate… and ate.... It wasn’t because of trauma or anything in my past. I simply was bored and ate the pantry and refrigerator out of existence. My mother at this point was making good money being a Registered Nurse. So much to the point where we literally changed class scenarios. We went from working class Jamaicans struggling to make ends meet in south Flushing, Queens, to modest middle class suburban Jamaicans. We traded in the grit and dirt of the New York roads and sidewalks for the much cleaner, greener pastures that ran throughout our yard. My …show more content…
I was worthless. I was nothing. I would ever think of standing up for myself it would be another smack in the face. Home was definitely not a safe space for me and honestly school was any better. I was bullied, picked on. I was made fun of by how much my man-boobs and ass jiggled while I walked. Most times I was out of breath and I was picked on for that. I really didn’t see my weight as a big deal. I thought it was going to “lose it all next year” that for some stupid reason I was going to return to who I once was. It wasn’t until middle school physical education where I started to feel uncomfortable with my body. We had to change in front of each other in the locker rooms. The other guys around me had the bodies of Greek gods. Perfect six pack abdominal muscles with every muscle piercing profusely throughout every fiber of their skin. Everyone was in model shape around me and then came me. No muscles, No radiant glow, No “Adonis”. I had a gut the size of a three-month pregnant woman and the only bulging thing that was working out for me was the stretch marks that have now made themselves an uninvited guest in my body. My temple, which I singlehandedly destroyed on my own free will tarnished what little self-esteem I had towards myself that my father …show more content…
I was beginning to have visual flashbacks of my dad beating me and I was having dreams of my father killing my mother in the same way every single night. Every single night seeing your father killing the one person you love the most repeatedly on an endless loop. I would cry out of spontaneity. Unexpected tears would roll across my face like crashing waves along a shore side. I would continue to experience this up into my mid-teens but it was more prevalent here. I began thinking of ways to kill myself. I could’ve jumped off the roof of my apartment building and fell six stories to my path of freedom. I could’ve never done that because that door is always locked. I then decided that the best way to kill myself would be to take a towel and wrap it around my neck; pulling on each end until I have successfully died. I proceed to grab a fluorescent pink towel out of my parent’s linen closet. I was in their room while my father was in the main room (our bedroom) taking care of my eldest brother and my mother was in the kitchen making the family dinner before she had to go to work. I wrap it around my neck and pull as hard as I can. I finally am going to be free. I thought I was going to be up in the sky with the Lord. Be with my true father and leave the one I was wrongfully assigned to. My younger sister walks through the door. She asked me what I was doing and I was straight up honest and said that I wanted to kill
Becoming the person I am today wasn't easy especially because I was never like this, I was usually that kid who sat by themselves would not socialize and avoid everyone. Because from elementary school all the way till 8th grade I was bullied by people who just wanted to bother me for the heck of it. I can’t explain that inner feeling from inside when you hear people say horrible stuff to you. To me this famous quote “stick and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me”, was a lie and it did hurt. One spring evening after a difficult day of school in elementary school, I was chased home by a group of kids that have been pushing me around, name calling, taking my stuff and humiliated me from the past months. I never grew the strength to stand up to those people because I was afraid of them hitting me afraid if they will spread rumors. Thank god when I graduated 5th grade I thought finally i will leave and never see those idiots ever in my life sadly when I entered middle school some of those kids entered the same school I was in and it kept on the harassment the name call...
I always had a feeling that I’d end up in psych ward, never knew what for though, but I always thought I’d have a better reason than I do now. Long story short: I tried to kill myself.
Six months ago, she stood in front of her mirror, examining her body closely. Her stomach was flat and smooth, her waistline was to die for, and her friends and even complete strangers wished they had her shape in her size five jeans. She never had to work out, never played any sports, and she did not know what a squat was. She was happy and confident as her scale read 120 pounds. She smiled at the reflection of herself. She proudly wore her Seton Hall tank top and loved the feel of it. Six months later, she examines herself again. Her stomach has a little bulge and her hips spread slightly. Her skin hangs over her jeans, enticing her friends and family to laugh and pinch at it. The button on those size five jeans always comes undone when she sits down, consequently causing an open fly to embarrass her whenever she leaves class. She had to buy six new pairs of jeans, all of which were size sevens and nines. The Seton Hall tank top that she proudly wore before now has a tear on one of the straps and a hole in the back stitching. Her scale reads an unthinkable 130 pounds; she walks around shell shocked, for the rest of the day.
Most of my other childhood memories were very dark. They consisted of my alcoholic father choking, dragging or punching my mother on a regular bases. It was
"Wake up! You need to go with your Massi to get groceries!" was screamed by my mother every Saturday of her pregnancy term. My mother had a difficult pregnancy, so the doctor had assigned her to bed rest for most of her term. During this time, my massi had moved in with us to take care of my mom, as my dad would work from 7 am to 5pm. I remember I was in kindergarten and thought I was all grown up and had the most difficult life ever. I mean, in a sense, I did have difficult life. I was a shy and a sensitive kid growing up, who was picked on at school for being fat and having facial hair. I was basically a mutant, the fat, hairy, tall Indian girl. Yes, I was also the tallest girl in my class at that time. I really could not do much to change this, well I could have lost weight or waxed, but I was too young to think about that. I was blessed though. I had a bodyguard as a best friend. Her name was Varina, she would literally punch anyone who would make mean remarks towards me. She was also my neighbour.
I can barely recall my childhood, one of the few things I can remember about it were the sounds of arguing and quarrels that went on between my parents. At that time, the words didn't seem to make sense but I was old enough to figure out that something was wrong and they were unhappy with each other. I often noticed my father sleeping outside his bedroom, on the couch. It
... or angry all the time and was no longer sleeping all day. I didn’t mind being around people, and my friends and family commented on my more frequent laughing and smiling. I felt like a completely new person. As it did develop later on in my life I was grateful to have a father who was supportive and understood exactly what I was going through. He explained to me what he went through and I found we could relate over more than I had originally thought. He helped me through my medication and my mood swings and talked to me about my therapy. He understood.
I was married, only had one child at the time, and lived in a townhouse. My current job was decent, but we lived paycheck to paycheck. I was an hourly employee and really depended on overtime for most of bills. It got to a point that money was low and I was worried about paying my rent, even to the point that I could not sleep and developed ulcers. I was in bad shape physically.
It was not always like this. I was an average seven year old boy enjoying the youthful life. But there were signs that lead on that something may be wrong with me. People would constantly tell my parents that I was skinny and that I was not the same child as I once was. Though my parents did not listen to their criticism, there was some truth in their statements. I was losing weight fast; I lost ten pounds within a few weeks. I was no longer the active child running
financially, due to my father falling ill and as a kid I didn’t understand finances or the struggles
In the short story “The Fat Girl” by Andre Dubis, the main character Louise is followed from the time she is nine years old up until she has her own child. Her mother ruins her self-confidence at a young age saying to her “you must start watching what you eat” (Dubus 320) when she was only nine years old. Her father is just about the only character in the story who accepts Louise for herself. “She’s a growing girl” (Dubus 321) he would say to her mother when she would limit Louise on what she could eat. Louise has dealt with an endless conflict of how other people feels she should look and eat. Louise is being opposed by society.
As I stand in front of the mirror, I start to cry in anger. Purging. Dieting. Working Out. Skipping Meals. Nothing seemed to get rid of my fat. This thick layer of unwanted fat. I just wanted to get my scissors and cut it off. It was disturbing to see and I wasn’t the only one who saw it. The way people looked at me was demeaning. Their eyes gleamed mean with faces of disgust.
Charlotte Cooper focuses on the American movement in one of her most famous books Fat and Proud (1998) where she speaks out too many obese individuals whom are in the same position as herself. She primarily concerns herself with ‘fat activism’ which is a fat acceptance movement in a social society seeking to change anti-fat bias. Many people can relate their own issues to hers as she draws attention to and tries to fight against fat phobia, fat discrimination and stereotypes that fat individuals are frequently judged on. This chapter is to endeavour what it is intended by fat activism and explore how Cooper lived and experienced fat phobia herself and medicalization of obesity. Cooper’s purpose and aims from the book is to reclaim the word ‘fat’ as a positive definition instead of an abusive and insulting term and
Parents criticize them even if they are gaining weight because puberty. In the article “Pretty Unreal” (Mehta 2), Kimber Bishop-Yanke confirms, “I see parents who are concerned their kids are getting fat, but it’s normal to eat more and gain weight during puberty. It’s just part of growing up”. But not all the family members understand this. Also their siblings tend to compare women with the way that they looked when were younger. Or husbands, when women have gotten weight because of a pregnancy, they start giving them all kind of comments making them uncomfortable with their
It started when I was a little girl, I think I was about five years old. I grew up in a one parent household, with just my mom. I had three other siblings, two brothers and a sister. My mom was the sole provider of the family. Everything started getting hard for her as we grew. I got curious and asked my mom a question I never asked before. "Mom where is my dad and why isn 't he here to help you take care of us." " Mom said, he was killed when you were a baby." So I never spoke of it again until I had turned about fifteen years of age. I still was curious about what had happened to my father. I started having dreams of my father being around, a man whom i had never seen or meet before. He was just an illusion that I had made up inside my