I make no fuss about it. I’m fat, I know. I’ve never known it any different. But I recently figured out for myself that I was sick of it. For the sake of my own health and my sanity, I underwent a gastric bypass, as readers of my blog will know.

There was another reason. In fact, there were many reasons. I was mocked for being fat for years.

It isn’t the name “fatty” that bothers me. It’s the people’s need to constantly point out the fact that I’m fat. I mean, I’m not an idiot, I know that I’m overweight and I know that I need to do something about it.

And I did something about it. But still, people look at me like I’m an alien from planet Fat, out to convert everyone to our Cult Of Fat, on behalve of our cult leader Fattington the third.  I want to SCREAM that, yes, I AM doing something about it.

It has been hard. I can’t look at my parents, my awful parents, when they’re eating cookies and shit and actually enjoying their food. Stuffing themselves like I used to do. I see myself reflected in my own parents.

I respect people who are overweight. Why shouldn’t I? They (and I) are normal people. If they feel good in their own skin, I accept that.

What I don’t respect, is people who are maybe one or two kilos heavier than they should be, complaining about how fat they are, and that they need to diet and all that ola pola. One guy, whilst sitting next to me at a dinner table, said that he was just going to stuff himself so he could get bigger, because he was so skinny.

I hate when people act like that.

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