Meet the creep: brazilian journalist, crazy cat lady, overall geek, vegan chubster, inked, promoter of fandom, love, and peace.
thanks to all you beautiful tumblr folks who extended me your condolences yesterday.
you are all awesome.
i’m okay, btw.
(couldn’t find a pen, sorry)
what’s the weather like and what would I change?
draw a selfie.
was feeling slightly better today, but started riding the downward spiral again as the day wore on. feeling blech-y on several levels.
I remembered I still haven’t listened to the newest WtNV ep. and Cecil’s voice is always a balm, so I’m gonna get on that asap.
I can’t believe I have to spell it out, but I condone no sort of body policing or concern trolling whatsoever and you are not welcome in this blog if you engage in that.
I’ve been both much bigger and much smaller than I currently am and, let me tell you, I’ve already had my fair share of body shaming in this life. I refuse to just smile and nod every time someone yells at me to “eat a fucking sandwich” or to “lay off the fucking sandwiches” out of a misguided desire to help me.
You are contributing to that pressure to walk the line of being thin, but not too thin. Curvy, but not too fat. Muscular, but not too manly. I’ve already internalized so much crap that I can’t imagine ever having a perfectly healthy or loving relationship with my body. So, yeah, I don’t like having anonymous people talking about my size.
And, to be honest, you are right in assuming that I dislike thinking that I’m fat. Not because fat is worst, wrong, unhealthy or uglier, but because I’ve been told all my life that my ability to be loved and accepted, that my very worth as a person, is directly linked to my appearance as it relates to the current standard and that shit is hard to unlearn. The last thing I need are people making even more superficial judgements based on how I look. So, yeah, you’ve offended me.
I don’t like when people talk about my size, period. What I want is to exist in public without being constantly pressured to look this or that way. Let me ask you something, if you saw someone on the street that was dressed in what, in your opinion, was an atrocious choice of garments, would you go over to them and tell them that they don’t look good and you feel concerned? That maybe they should consider dressing in a “doable” way? No, right?! Because that is completely ludicrous and offensive. What you have done is no different.
I know our society has normalized the idea that invading a woman’s personal space to give unwarranted personal criticism is ok because our bodies are up for public scrutiny and judgement. That is a sick idea from a sick culture and it is NOT ok. That is some dehumanizing shit.
I would like to inform you that health, actually, hasn’t quite so much to do with size as it has with lifestyle, genetics and lots of other factors. I could be much more healthy weighing even less or even more, so who the fuck are you to decide whether me gaining or losing weight would be good or bad? Are you my primary care physician? Are you aware of my habits and my history? Why are you making assumptions about my lifestyle in the first place? I box because I love it. And, this come as a shock to you, I don’t give a shit what you think is great.
Guess what? My health, as my appearance, is my own fucking problem. This is my body and I’ll wreck it if I want to. Being unhealthy shouldn’t earn me any less respect or compassion because I’m still a fucking human being and I deserve no less than humane treatment from others. That is the bare fucking minimum.
I’m pretty sure I have a fever on top of being a whiny crybaby.
I’ve been stewing in thoughts of the “woe is me” variety all day long and it’s ridiculous. like, I just got an email from a close friend literally telling me about the heart attack he had this month and I’m here feeling miserable because of a sore throat.
and of course I’ve seized the opportunity to be all “I shouldn’t exist, I wish I’d never been born, I suck, I’m just gonna lie here and complain about it without actively doing anything to improve the situation”.
I should’ve invited more people to this pity party, though. I want someone to offer me their lap and then play with my hair while I curl up and pretend to sleep.