I work in healthcare. I work in tech. I know what it means to be obese.
I know it puts one at risk for heart disease and type 2 diabetes.
The statistics are out there. It is not an easy problem to solve.
Doctors throw their hands up and say a prayer with little resolve
To tell their own patients the truth.
As a kid, I was always overweight. I know what it means to be obese.
I know what it’s like to be bullied for it – it’s a chronic social disease.
A doctor told me “You’re fat. Just lose the weight, and your problems will go away,”
and she made it sound so easy–as if I could fix it in one day.
I refused to see her ever again. I was thirteen.
Didn’t she know that I know what it means to be obese?
Did she think I like being bullied for being fat? Please.
Did she not think I too have already considered how life might be
to not be shamed, taunted, spit on–to not feel that misery–
all because I was obese?
When a friend suggests I ought to lose weight since I’m obese,
it’s hard not to be offended–as if I haven’t tried or am not trying to lose these
extra pounds. He says, “It would bring out your prettiest self.”
Thanks. As if the rest of me belongs in a cage on a shelf.
“You have to be honest to yourself,” he adds. Ouch.
So this is what it means to be obese:
your friends and bullies give insults alike with ease.
I don’t need more insults upon injury, assumptions about my life,
about what I know or don’t, am trying or have tried. Spare me the extra strife.
I just want to be loved and treated with kindness like everyone else.