Fat Acceptance

I am so fucking here for all of the body positivity and fat acceptance I’ve been seeing on my social media. I’m here for the embracing of rolls and stretch marks; the praising of big bellies, big thighs, and flabby arms. I love that people are showing love to big bodies and even more so, showing love to themselves. I love y’all and I’m proud of y’all.

That being said, I am not the acceptable kind of fat. If I lost weight, I would not be the attractive kind of thin. I am top-heavy. I have large breasts and a big belly. My hips are extremely narrow. My ass is hilariously flat. My thighs are large but my legs are skinny. I look like Michigan J. Frog. — It’s okay to laugh. I find it funny, too. I say none of this to illicit sympathy. You can send me any number of compliments and I will still believe that my body is ugly. Because, body positivity and fat acceptance still overwhelmingly exclude women with my body shape.

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“Do what makes you happy.”

They always say “do what makes you happy,” but when I’m happy binge-watching entire shows Netflix and drinking caffeinated beverages all day; they won’t stop asking me “what are you going to do with your life?” So I guess the only answer that will satisfy them is, “not what makes me happy.” LOL.


I’m in this weird mental state where I can see everything falling apart around me, the ground crumbling beneath my feet, my entire world collapsing in on itself and I’m… fine. I’m good. Things are as bad as I can currently imagine them, but I’m either too numb or in some kind of shock.  I can’t muster the energy to give a fuck. I feel concern but I don’t feel the crippling worry I usually do when shit gets bad. Where I’d normally be anxious and panicked, I’m just… fine. I’m not stressed, though I know I should be. I’m aware that everything is bad and getting worse, but I’m oddly calm. I’m more scared of my lack of worry than my actual, horrible state of existence. Have I reached peak apathy or is this shit building up, a floodgate waiting to be opened? I won’t dwell on it too much because, for the moment, I’m fine.


I’m choosing to embrace frivolity because, real life is too much for me to handle at the moment. I’ll be present, but not active. My life will be all distraction all the time until I can healthily cope with my shit and everything else. If I have to lose myself in books, or film and television, I will. I’m not here for anything but my own mental well-being. I’m about conveniently ignoring anything that will send me into a depression or an existential crisis. If that makes me selfish, so be it.


I’ve started a lot of posts and just scrapped them because, I feel like they’re not… enough. I feel like I’m not black enough, not feminist enough, not woke, not present. I feel like the shit I want to talk about is not serious enough or not real enough. Like, there is real shit going on in the world, and I’m like… “but why nobody talking about Under The Dome, though?” I kind of don’t want to make noise if I’m not saying something substantial, but on the other hand, I’m not that fucking deep. I am deeply apathetic. Not in the sense that I don’t care, but more in the sense that I barely have enough strength to tolerate my own life; I literally cannot deal with all that bigger shit right now. So I’m sitting here like… Are my frivolous thoughts even valuable? Probably not. But, should that keep me from engaging? I don’t know. Maybe.

I feel fucking invisible, now. I’m not sure that making noise will equate to being heard, but… maybe, just fuck it.

Boy, Bye

I am not attractive enough to have to worry about guys regularly approaching me. They don’t. I don’t have this problem at all. The guys who do show interest are clearly “aiming low,” assuming I’ll be so hard-pressed for male attention that I’ll take whatever I can get. I haven’t devalued myself to the point where any random who compliments me will get me into bed. Despite my overall lack of allure, I still have standards. I’d rather be single indefinitely than fuck with guys who don’t interest me. My desire for companionship, or sex, or whatever guys can offer are outweighed by my self-respect. I’m not too good for, or against, casual relationships and meaningless hookups. But I’m definitely too good for, and against, bullshit guys.

Just because you feel you’ve lowered the bar with me does not mean I will lower my bar for you. That’s not how this works. You’re not a hero or a saint for paying attention to a woman who is not the ideal. You are probably not the ideal.  I may not be the woman with the cutest face, best body, the best hair, or the best wardrobe, but I am a woman who wants what she wants and does not want to settle for less than that. I am not easy prey just because, I don’t have as many options as smaller, prettier women. If you are the only option and you’re a piece of shit, there is no option.


I am aware of the awful things happening in this country. I think about it all the time.  I often choose to immerse myself in it, to be present. But sometimes I have to ignore it, for my own well being. I compartmentalize it. I keep it in my thoughts, but separate from other shit. I can watch TV or play video games — and enjoy myself doing it — while still being able to process it. I can still feel sad and angry at the one thing while being amused or  happy at another. I sometimes feel guilty for my ability to build that wall between two realities that are happening concurrently. It seems unfair that I can tune out the negative and focus on the good — or rather, the less burdensome — when others do not have the luxury. But I realize that it is a coping mechanism. It is how I remain sane.

I learned to self-regulate my emotions when I was fairly young because, I suffered from depression and I hated how it felt to be medicated. So I learned to put things in mental boxes, and keep them away from one another. They’re all very real, and I am aware they are happening, but one does not spill over into the other. I do not have a job or any real prospects, which makes me feel worthless. But I put that away when I am enjoying a day a Disneyland. I feel angry and hurt by what is going on in Ferguson. But I can put that away while I am watching my favorite summer shows on Sunday night. I am aware of everything at once, but I am only choosing to tune into one thing at a time.

It hurts too much to be plugged in all the time. It is too exhausting to be aware all the time. It’s too stressful to take part in everything. It’s not wrong for me to tune out when it gets too much. I shouldn’t feel guilty that I can still smile and laugh at things. I shouldn’t force myself to stay present when doing so compromises me. It’s a balance. I refuse to become so overwhelmed with negativity that I can’t enjoy things. I refuse to feel guilty or ashamed that I’m not doing more. I am doing what I can handle right now, and that is enough.

Sorry, Not Sorry

Like, I really hope God  and Heaven is real, and I hope God is the entity I think he is. So when all these religious twatwaffles get there, he’ll just look them straight in the eyes and say “no.” Then they’ll drop through some trap door straight to hell.

— Me, on a specific type of religious asshole.


I find it strange when newscasters immediately jump from a negative story to a positive one, unaffected. Because, it makes me so uncomfortable, I’ve avoided that kind of uneasy transition from one blog post to the next. But, it has inhibited me from being as expressive as I’d like to be. It has been difficult for me to find a balance between lighthearted and heavy topics to write about. I haven’t published much because, the things I address are often too disparate. It feels inapt. In the past I’ve created separate spaces dedicated to specific things, but that doesn’t work for me.

I have so many posts in my drafts, unpublished and forgotten because, it was never the right time. I want the freedom to talk about frivolous things, like what I’m watching, reading, or playing. And I want that not to hinder my ability to discuss important things, like current events and social issues. My hope is that I can be both silly and serious and not have either bleed over and taint the other. I am going to attempt to write and publish more regularly. So I have to find a way to get over my weird discomfort with topical transitions and changes in tone.