I Want To Talk About It, But…

I’m over here making my

Fifteenth (more?) different outline for

Some episode nobody asked for about

Fatphobia, the form of discrimination

I am a bit of an expert on, and honestly

All of it is so hard for me.

The planning, the remembering. And most of all

The connecting the dots

The clear perspective

I already have of having lived

Losing weight and gaining it, the

Unachievable status of saying

“I’m not a fatphobic bigot”

In a world and in a life with a personal history

Of self-loathing, awkward narrative regurgitation

The number of times I have subjected myself

To fatphobia will always be more numerous

Than the times others did it, but

The truth is the actions of others

Always have more impact than my own

Internal dialogue. The external dialogue

Affects the internal one.

I can’t help but feel

That that disruption

Is my problem.

I have experienced so much fat discrimination

In my life, personally and professionally and

In times of great need, that I

Don’t want to talk about any of it.

To anyone.

Except for when it comes out screaming.

I am self-destructive and I am

Inconsolable and more than anything

You all taught me that

The way I feel

Is well deserved, I think

What I’m trying to say

In so many words

Is I want to talk about it but

More than just my chest hurts.

I’d love to blame top surgery

For my reticence

But the topic feels so hopeless—

No one will ever understand

The perspective I have, unless I get

The words exactly right

And even then—

People misunderstand things

On purpose, as long as it benefits them

Or they find it entertaining.

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