S, for sizeism.
I wrote about this and managed to get it published in a literary journal. If I can ever figure out how to get a PDF of it done, I'll post it here. But I wanted to talk about it now because, although in the article I talked about having been judged for my size all my life, today I was the guilty party.
I'm down about 30 pounds from where I was this time last year. I need to be down another 50. At least. I look at my reflection in my laptop screen, and in my dresser mirror, and in my rearview, and want to throw up. It's just not possible for me, anyway, to have anything but massive self-loathing and a hideous body image. My guess is that even when I'm 140 that'll still be the case.
Today at the grocery store I kept finding myself behind this guy who must have weighed, I'm not kidding, close to 600 pounds. You would think I would have some compassion for him. But all I could do is stare, and wonder -- and think unkind thoughts -- about how he must have got that way.
Let's say he does weigh 600 pounds. That puts me 400 below him. And yet people still judge me. Hell, I even judge me! I hate my own guts for being a cow! And yes, I have a thyroid problem, but you know what my real problem is? Eating too much crap and rarely getting off the couch. I'd be willing to bet that's pretty much every overweight person's problem. Maybe this guy had a rare metabolic disorder. Maybe he blew out a knee when he was younger and finds it hard to exercise. I don't know. I just know it was incredibly unfair of me to do to him what I hate having done to me.
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