my body is a cage II

I’m going to hit the exercise bike in a few minutes.  I’ve lost 6lbs in 6 weeks, apparently, although I look and feel exactly the same.  But then, I’m still nestled into the “obese” category, although not as much as I was before.  Another 10 lbs and I won’t be anymore.  For someone who’s been “obese” for as long as I can remember, it’s kind of a big deal, I guess.

It’s not fair, really.  I mean, I’m fat.  Obviously.  But I have a friend who is the same height as me, and she weighs 50 pounds more.  She’s not diabetic, though.  There are women who are over 100 lbs heavier than I am who are not diabetic.  There are women who top 300 lbs, and even they’re not diabetic.  But no, I apparently drew the shitty metabolism card or something. 

I’m not fat enough for bariatric surgery.  I’m not fat enough to go on the biggest loser.  I’m not even so fat that I need to buy clothes with sizes ending in “W.”  Yet I get struck with a fat person’s disease at 14 years old.  How is that fair? 

And I know diabetes isn’t only about weight, although with the stigma around it, it might as well be.  “Lose weight,” said my shitty pediatrician, who was about 6 feet tall and over 300 lbs herself.  “You basically did this to yourself.”  Standing there, all sanctimonious with her BMI of 40.  Not touched by the disease that was going to become my constant companion, entirely by the luck of the draw, it seems.  Yes, at 14, I had done it to myself.  I believe in personal responsibility, yes indeed.

I’ve been fat my whole life.  At least since I was 7 or 8.  I don’t remember becoming this way, though.  I don’t know how it happened.  To this day, I don’t understand why I put on weight so easily as a child and have so much fucking trouble taking it off as an adult.

I hate my body.  Not in the way that anorexic girls do, where they think they’re ugly and fat.  No, I hate my body.  I hate eating, and eliminating.  I hate needing sleep, and sunshine, and 8 cups of water a day.  I hate that my body betrayed me when I was 14 years old and I hate being guilt-ed into remaining trapped in this piece of shit meat sack. 

My mind is a prisoner and I ache for the day I will be set free. 

Until then, the stationary bike is calling to me.  Time to exercise the meat sack.