I was piled under blankets and sheets and could not move. I couldn’t lift my leg, my arm, couldn’t turn over to turn off the alarm. I was stuck under the weight of my own brain telling my body to disappear for a while. Squinty-eyed and full of snot I over-shot and hit the alarm clock onto the floor.
Oh well, it got re-set and so did I. A few hours later I woke up and while able to move, wasn’t feeling too excited about it. I was in the middle of a full-on body flare; pain, misery, muscle cramps and the foggy-brain memory of a crash test dummy.
Already sensitive to my over-sensitive body, I stayed on the couch and pretended to be productive. I typed, I listened to chefs cut things on wooden boards, I drank tea. I tried to be good to my body as it flailed through another toss-up in the land of disability and crippledom. I even googled gluten-free living, wondering if maybe the food I was eating was killing me.
Then I saw the twitterings on International No Diet Day. Here I was, sitting on my couch trying not to induce further pain and frustration and the world was trying to tell me to eat something tasty and enjoy my body. I was conflicted; enjoy what? Enjoy the pain, the crippledom, the suffering, the snot of a runny nose? Enjoy the twinges and cramping, the muscle spasms and exploding ovaries?
It’s really hard to be body-positive and disabled. On the one hand, there’s an entire world telling me that I am broken and surely I am. My government has designed a system to keep me from succeeding, my family pretends I can get better with the use of carrots and denial and the entertainment industry highlights those of us who look cool enough to stare at but have enough private equity to appear successful. My body is generally on display as fat but also as inhuman; as disabled and therefore open for grabs, jabs, pokes, prods, and full-on attack.
My body has sadly become a casualty to ableism and here I am just trying to be fat!
Given that I am disabled first, fat second I left my house as the cripple that I am and ate in public. I ate in public like I fuck; hard, intentional and present. I ate a giant lemon-custard danish on the train and stared down a nurse. I let the filling touch the tip of my tongue and slowly sucked it down until I was left with glazed pastry crumbling around the corners of my mouth. I took a bite and inhaled, the dough melting on my lips before entering the cavern of my mouth. Before I could suck the sugary glaze off my fingers the nurse had gotten up, stared pointedly at me while standing over my straightened frame and huffed. Best pastry-gasm I’ve ever had. Possibly ze was having trouble reconciling that pastry-erection and had to exit, stage left? Maybe I should have used the protection of a nice waxy paper sleeve, accidently biting a corner and ruining the deliciousness so soon.
Like a good cripple, covering up so as not to bring reality outisde my bedroom – the good fattie hides the food ze eats. As if we don’t eat. As if humans subsist off fumes and really good imagination.
Sometimes you just gotta go public.
NOTE: there was a picture but I ated it. Soon fatsies, soon there will be a photo shoot including ice cream porn. Soon…just wait.
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