submitted by aliencupcake:

I’m fat. I’m a fat girl. Not curvy or chubby, or with-more-to-hold. Fat. I don’t have love humps, I have proper rolls of meat and thunder thighs. And lately, I’ve been getting tired of the crap people are pulling on me. But let me give you an insight:

According to BMI charts (which are as realiable as you all acknowledge by now), I’m obese, at 85kg and 165cm. My fat is mostly stored in my central body area, therefore granting me a apple-type body, and with it, tons of other things:

a much increased chance of getting heart attacks than “normal people”

a much increased chance of developing diabetes than “normal people”

a much increased chance of developing respiratory issues than “normal people”

a much increased chance to have mental disorders than “normal people”

And I could go on, and on and on. All those risks were told me by healthcare professionals, countless times, be it because I decided to be on the birth control pill and needed a check up, be it because I was donating blood, be it whatever.

And it’s always the “We say it because we care” excuse. “It’s because we’re worried about your health, your lifestyle choices! We don’t mind you’re a little curvy, we’re just worried about the repercussions.”

Guess what: I don’t need you to worry about that. I don’t need to listen to your tips on how to lose weight or to my mom’s warnings of “if you don’t get thinner and dress appropriately, people won’t hire you, you know society shouldn’t pay attention to looks but it does”. I certainly don’t need your looks of pity when I pull a face at a shitton of stairs or the condiscending giggle whenever I try to fit my ass through two too-closed parked cars. Neither do I need to listen for the n-th time to my doctor giving me the WATCH THE DIABEETUS speech.

I am aware. In fact, I’m more aware than what you may think, and probably more aware than someone who, unlike me, doesn’t suffer with anxiety disorder, depression and bulimia. I don’t need your half-assed wake-up calls.

I’ve always been an active person - not because of health, but purely because I LIKED being active. I love a good sports session and competition. The same way I take the lift instead of the stairs - because I’ve also always been lazy in what concerns those little daily things. I take the lift because I’m lazy, not because I’m fat and can’t move my ass (and even if I couldn’t, it still would be fine and not your business). 

I got my latest blood test results about a week ago. My mother didn’t believe they were mine, and neither did the doctor, at first. Then they thought there had been a mistake. Finally, they accepted them as the actual truth. Why this difficulty to believe? 

Because they came out perfect. Literally everything, from cholesterol to glicemia to hormones to blood pressure, everything was perfect. The example of what a perfectly healthy individual blood tests should show. And, therefore, they couldn’t belong to a obese lazy girl.

How triggering is this? How discriminatory is this? Do they even fathom how that made me feel? “These tests are too perfect, can’t be yours, because you’re fat.” “I can’t believe you snatched that hot dude, you’re chubby.” “I can’t believe you won that badminton set, was expecting you to be much slower”. “Nice work on getting a job, people are usually picky with looks, glad you got lucky!”

These aren’t words said out of care or concern. These are words of discrimination and hurt masked in happy disbelief. Thankfully now, I have a ~*signed official*~ paper that proves that no one has any reason to call me out on my not-so-healthy-according-to-you habits. 

But the point is - no one ever had.