Friday, May 11, 2018

Cried from fat shame

We have a "don't come into the shed when I am riding" rule because every dynamic puts me at risk. The door opens behind me, I get scared and if I have my shirt off then I feel acute fat shame because my gut spills over my waistband.

It happened because I didn't further protect myself by not hanging up the no entry sign on the door. He came in, I got frightened and then I tried to cover my monstrous gut with my hands, almost trying to pull my girth in. I had a frustrating experience in trying to find out what he needed---because I said not to disturb me---and stay calm. He wanted to tell me how many versions of Beauty and the Beast Netflix had. An interesting point I suppose but in no way justifying opening the door. His defence was the lack of sign and he thought I'd finished. 

I felt the shame of my girth so acutely that when he closed the door I cried. I got angry for the body I did not choose and that I got bullied for by the people who did choose it---my parents. I cried for a boy that never was because he was born broken and treated as such by the people who should never have done so and who got joy from doing it.

My anxiety stayed fired for the rest of the ride. I left the shed crying but not wailing so I got past him without him knowing my distress.

It was fucked up. I had an angry shower and had to use CBT to talk myself calmly through what I would be doing next; "You're getting dressed, then you will have a Valium, then put on a band-aid then socks". Calm recitation of what you'll be doing brings overwhelming emotion down a notch; it's hard to stay in the angry grief moment when you’re talking about clothing and how you will dress your wounds and self.

I'm showered, dressed and had meds. My job now is to not relive that bullshit in the aftermath.

It's a body I didn't choose but it wrought miracles. It's worth it for that, momentary fat shame and all.

WFTW.

No comments:

Post a Comment

No comments needed, really.

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.