☾ What did it feel like? ☾

🍕 Fat in a small town April 7, 2025

Song Mood: "Wild Alien Baby" by KFC Murder Chicks

		(  ; -.-  )    
	

I grew up in a small town that my family wasn't from. Not even remotely. Everything there revolved around status-how much money you had, or what name was printed on your mailbox. We had none of that. No roots, no wealth, no protection. And I was fat, weird, and didn't know how to hide it.

I was an easy target.

People yelled things at me on the street. Insults. Names. Sometimes they'd push me. Sometimes hit me. But the worst part wasn't even the kids-it was the adults. The teachers. The neighbors. The ones who told me I was exaggerating. That I needed to give people a chance. That I was lying.

I was bullied by kids who were bullied themselves. Kids who knew they were low on the ladder—but not as low as me. They needed someone to kick. I was that someone.

And I couldn't even count on home. My mother wouldn't believe me. Fitting in was more important to her. She lied to me. Told me people asked about me. That I was liked, if only I'd try. But I did try. I asked. And I found out the truth.

She just said whatever she had to say to feel like she was doing her job. She'd tried, now it was my fault as far as she was concerned.

My brother and sister didn't want anything to do with me either. I don't blame them now. They were surviving the same house, the same town. They found better families. I used to joke about it. Everyone laughed. It was funny. But it was also true.

I understand why it happened. I wasn't raised right. My mom didn't have time for me, and I was left to figure things out myself.

I ate. That was my comfort. All day and all night. Because nothing else felt good. I got huge. Disgusting. I didn't know how to clean myself. I smelled. My clothes were stained and stretched. My nails were bloody. My underwear was ruined because I didn't even know how to wipe properly.

How could anyone see value in that?

And if you did talk to me, what did you get? A bad attitude. Anger. Shame pretending to be confidence.

And still... a few people did. Just enough. Two teachers. Three friends. People I didn't treat well at the time. But they kept me alive.

I didn't thank them then. I didn't reward them. In fact, I ended up hurting some of them. But I think about them all the time I wish I had done better. I think they would all like that I'm still here.