Diary of a Fat Black Woman

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SYMPATHY is for SUCKERS!

I feel like a lot of “fat” blogs have lurkers just preying for an opportunity to say something mean. Well, if it gets your rocks off in your own miserable life, to put someone down…then do you! Tomorrow is a new day and my skin might not be the toughest but it’s damn tough enough for these weak internet fuckers.

BUT before I truly delve into my feelings, I’d like to say that I am in no way, form, or fashion in need of a pity party or even seeking one with this blog. I don’t need sympathy, I just need a RELEASE. I’m mad, I’m mad at the world…I’m mad at myself…some days I’m mad at God. I’m more mad at myself (I have to say that so no energy bolts come flying my way lol). I have ups and downs, and my life has become so mundane (hence me being home on a Friday night, trust me it’s typical).

Well point blank, if you haven’t figured it out yet (though I think you’re pretty smart if you’ve gotten thus far)…I’m fat. I’m short and fat. To make matters worse, I’m short, fat, with huge breasts and no huge ass *gasp* especially being a BLACK woman! Well I guess any race nowadays since it seems everyone is packing a little (or A LOT) back, even if it’s manufactured in an operating room. 

I don’t remember a time I haven’t been overweight. I definitely know since 3rd/4th grade and up. My mom likes to share the story that we’d gain weight over the summer, lose it during the school year. And well, one year…I didn’t lose it. I just continued to get fat…and fatter…and fatter.

Ten years ago, I lost 50 lbs. I weighed 188 at my lowest. I loved every minute of being smaller. It made a world of difference in my appearance. I wore a 12/14 and could shop in regular stores. I’d never gotten so much attention at the clubs, just out and about, a car full of guys honking for my attention at the red light. I didn’t have any experience with that so I enjoyed it and welcomed the attention. I also remember vividly the moment of my “downfall” if you will. My family decided to go out to eat. I opted to stay home, I knew I was “weak” and couldn’t resist temptation. I sat at the kitchen table and watched them leave. (I hope I’m not being too dramatic here but the memory stands out strong). My dad came back home, he had forgotten something at the house and before he walked out the door, asked again if I was sure I didn’t want to join them. At that moment, I abandoned all, I let my journey slip through my hands and I never recovered. I gained the weight back, TYPICAL, and also TYPICAL, in the years that followed, I’ve added an additional whopping 60 lbs to what I gained back.

I’ve lost my way. I weigh 300 lbs at a minuscule 5’4 height. I don’t feel sexy, I mean seriously…how could I? Some days I feel pretty, when I dress up. Most days, I just look ok! I don’t bother getting extra pretty because really, what’s the point? I don’t think people can see past the fat unless they know me or bother speaking to me to see my bubbly & funny personality. But most people won’t bother. I haven’t been approached by a man in idk how long. 

I haven’t SERIOUSLY dieted since I lost the 50 lbs. I’ve been consumed with watching success stories on YouTube lately. I’m ready to try again. I’m ready to shop ANYWHERE! I’m ready to feel AND be attractive again. I’m ready to have self-confidence ALL THE TIME (ok well MOST will do). I’m ready to lose this GUT! I’m ready to have ENERGY! In my mind, I know there is motivation in DOING, now I just have to DO! I have a lackluster boring life because I have no energy, I know working out will solve A LOT of my problems.

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