I have written about fat in a previously published article. Funny thing about fat. Most people only want to speak of it disparagingly, and perhaps that's appropriate. I'm not really sure. What I do know is that fat is far more than a personal matter. It's as political as any thing in my world, and furthermore, it is the one aspect of one's person on which others feel completely free to speak their minds. That speaking is almost never kind or positive. Folks hate being called racist or sexist, but no one minds being a "fatist" or a fat phobe. Why do folks tell people that they are lazy slobs, helpless overeaters, dangerously unhealthy? Why are they able to laugh and point at fat people without shame or censorship? It's a mystery to me. Really.

I have been fat for most of my life. I was a fat child. I am a fat woman. I'm not sure I would know it, however, if folks weren't talking about fat all the time. For example, when I look at myself in the mirror, I see me. It's not until I see myself on a photo that I actually realize how fat I am. I'm always amazed. I think I could live with my fat were it not for the constant discussions of fat. Contemporary women are obsessed with body weight, and particularly white women. The conversations are all day every day, and especially at mealtimes. I know dozens of women who hate themselves because they're fat. Most of them are smaller than I. I'm stunned by the present definitions of what fat is and who's fat.

I don't hate myself. I actually don't hate my body. I continue to learn that I'm supposed to hate my body. Heaven forbid that I actually believe myself to be beautiful. Imagine how women look at me when I refer to myself as gorgeous! The evidence for the relationship between obesity and poor health is convincing, and I wonder why I'm still fat. Here's what I've come up with thus far:

Former deprivation is one reason for my fat. While I haven't worked this out completely, it seems clear that there's a relationship between past longing (and sometimes hunger) and the present ability to enjoy whatever foods I want to eat. In other words, I can eat what I want when I want. The deprivation factor kicks in as soon as I even think about plans that restrict me or make particular food groups "off limits." Even if it's stuff I don't want, I simply don't want to be told that I can't have it. Deprivation and memories of deprivation run deep. It's not insignificant that when I got my first real job and paycheck, I went directly to the grocery store. I spent hours looking at all the stuff I'd never tasted. I must have eaten porterhouse, filet mignon, and t-bone steaks everyday for a year. I'd never known such delights. I don't think I've moved very far from that person now. It takes a long time to believe that the well will not dry. Now the deprivation is of a different sort. The food from my world is now taboo. BAD. Unhealthy. And even if it weren't, ain't none of it up here anyway. So I feel deprived of "home" food, or the food that reminds me of home and family.

I think resistance plays a small part in my continuing fat as well. I HATE the ways in which people treat fat people. The thin or reasonably pound person who goes on constantly about how much she needs to lose. She's the person that I'm supposed to want to be. I hate the ways in which that external world shames fat people either into retreating into food or hating themselves or spending hundreds of dollars on various diet plans. I hate the ways in which women, even feminists, have fallen into the trap that suggests that beauty is impossible for fat women. I hate the fact that no one believes that a fat woman can really think she's beautiful.

But the medical establishment has frightened me. I'm afraid of killing myself. My fat has become like smoking used to be. I don't mind it, but I hate the prejudice against it. I hate what it does to my body. I don't want to shorten my life. I love life, and I want to live as long as I can. I've got a problem cause it's far easier to give up smoking than it is to give up food. Everybody's eating all the time. Food is everywhere. That voice that tells me that I can't is the voice I'm bound to defy. I can. I can because I can because I want. Please don't tell me I can't.

A couple of days ago, I called out the "fat brigade" on Facebook--asked someone to help and advise. Not one "like" or comment. Nada. Were folks embarrassed? Am I not supposed to talk about my fat? It's not exactly a secret, right?

So I'm gonna do something, but I don't want any pats on the back or "good jobs." I don't want anyone to tell me how much better I look now.......cause what I want you to know is that I think I'm pretty damned HOT at 60 and fat. What I do (and if I do) ain't about your praise or admiration or respect. If all those good feelings are simply tied to my physical body, then no thank you. What I want to do is add years to my life, so that I, in whatever state I find myself, can continue to be the gorgeous creature that I am. So y'all deal wid it..........