Body Terrorism isn’t real?

Body terrorism isn’t real and no one wants fat people to kill themselves.…

Except, those 2 statements are ignorant and factually incorrect. When society tolerates large parts of itself plus the media shaming, hazing, discriminating against, and ridiculing overweight people, that society is hardly any more advanced than one that arrests women for not covering their hair. Fat people, women especially, are being terrorized all their lives and smugly expected to hate themselves. Sometimes this terrorism is thinly veiled in “health concerns” not shown in similar harassing fashions to smokers and other way less healthy people, meaning it’s really just a fib as nobody can possibly be sincerely concerned with a stranger’s weight-related health if not with a smoker’s or an alcoholic’s – plus, concern isn’t voiced by ridicule and unsolicited, demoralizing commentary.
Unlike Iranian women who uncover their hair, fat women in the West may not be legally prosecuted or punished, but they are beaten and bullied as children, and shamed and ridiculed as adults, if not personally, then by blanket fat hate, and little is done about it other than victim-blaming: “So just stop being fat” or, while kinda hard to convince an impressionable child it’s possible to be lovable when everyone is violently hating you, “Nobody ever gonna love you if you don’t love yourself”, which is nonsense, because you can love yourself all you want and still be brutalized and no child sets out hating herself – self-hate is conditioned, not inherent. I don’t know of any fat girl/child who hated herself for being fat before getting repeatedly and meticulously bullied for it. Plus, me hating myself entitles no one else to attack me in any form or fashion.

Fat hate, and (mostly women’s) fear of fatness, is a huge contributing factor to body image issues, eating disorders, and depression leading to suicide. But since the hate continues and is tolerated in school, in professional settings, while shopping, pretty much everywhere and accepted as a thing of daily life, there isn’t much a fat person can do other than suffer to lose weight in order to stop suffering from being dehumanized by society (and usually failing, while not owing anyone thinness to begin with and being an equal, worthy human being at 500 lbs as much as at 80). And failing that, many kill themselves, and nothing changes, meaning society accepts it. Just look at the internet’s response to suicides. Pretty thin girl: poor thing, so young, so pretty, why? Fat person? Lots of victim blaming and posthumous belittling and diminishing the cruelty the person suffered leading up to the suicide. Shouldn’t have been so fat then. Fatty got their giant butt hurt. If the fat person’s suicide gets any attention at all.

Hand these cards to people of color, disabled people, anorexic or mentally ill people, the world would be up in arms. But since it’s “just” fat people who have no right to respect and dignity, as confirmed by entertainment media who mostly cast us as a source of comic relief or villainy, we’ll just have to torture ourselves to lose weight in order to be treated like equal human beings, right?



You’re ugly.

And that’s cool.

I was just thinking… The radical bodylove/self-acceptance movement has my full support and it’s helped me a lot. But a recurring phrase used within the movement is “Everyone/Every body is beautiful”. Every size, every shape, every color, etc.

Isn’t this where the whole issue of body discrimination and self-hate starts? At the feeling that we must be beautiful in order to love ourselves or hope to be loved? And while beauty is partially in the eye of the beholder, shouldn’t we be honest and admit that there are traits that a majority agree to be less-than-pretty?

So how about we drop the entire drive for beauty? How about we stop trying to feel better about ourselves by insisting on beauty, whether it’s by seeing beauty in our current state, or working to achieve it through change? How about we adopt the attitude that everyone is an equally respectable and worthy and lovable human being no matter what they look like – and not feeling obligated to either be (considered) beautiful, or tell people that they are?

When you try to make someone feel better by telling them they’re beautiful, isn’t that a bit like telling someone they’re not fat in order to comfort them? Aren’t both examples implying that unless you look pleasant (in terms of standards and majority opinions), you don’t get to feel good about yourself? Aren’t both, denying fatness and denying ugliness, implying that these traits are something horrible to have?

Why do we need to be beautiful in order to feel good about ourselves? Why can’t an ugly person be overtly and “awarely” ugly, and still feel good about themselves? What do we owe anyone beauty for? What would we owe ourselves beauty for? Golda Meir was one ugly motherfucker but while I don’t like her politics, she was successful and loved like fuck. Albert Einstein was one ugly potato head, so what. He was a genius.

Fuck beauty.

Another feel-good lie.


This, is a load of shit:


People are always blamed for their self-hate, yet nobody tried to prevent it from festering when the fat girl or the girl with the glasses had dog shit thrown at her, had her hair lit on fire, and got tied to a tree during a thunderstorm because dozens and dozens of boys thought that would be an appropriate punishment for her appearance. Nobody missed a chance to blame her own attitude when all the men looked the other way or scoffed at the thought of giving her a chance. Even if her attitude or personality couldn’t have been the cause because nobody wanted to get a taste of it after having seen her physical shortcomings.

Everybody blamed it on the rise of the Internet when the fat girl became a recluse and everybody assumed her bitter attitude is the cause and not the result of a lifetime of rejection by what she needed most: a lover who desired her and who thought there was nothing more desirable than her. Fat girls and “ugly” girls are taught not to have standards, to make do with whatever idiot will take them, settle for whatever volunteers if you will.

Even my own mother sometimes blames me for being a 30-year-old single because I didn’t want the fat, old, stupid, smelly Nigerian who was oh so charming, the homeless alcoholic who really only had his looks going for him, or the guy who was the walking definition of “ugly”. No, she never liked any of those for me, but they are examples of what I logically rejected when my mother and society thought I should have settled for them rather than nothing. As a fat girl, I don’t get to be picky. I don’t get to want Prince Charming, the one who raises my blood pressure to dangerous levels and the one who may, God forbid, be good-looking. I don’t get to hope for true love and for the one who makes me happy rather than just treat me right. I need to want a man who wants me, treating me right comes in second. The fat 50-year-old Nigerian would have treated me right and he smelled of rotten cheese, not to mention he was hideous. No, I don’t hate blacks. I hate old fat ugly blacks hitting on a girl half their age, as I hate old fat ugly white men hitting on young chicks. So should I have married him? A repulsive lump of middle-aged grease, because he was nice? Is that all a fat white girl can hope for?

And then everyone gasps in surprise when she disagrees that it’s all her fault. Experiences like mine are why fat and “ugly” girls hate themselves. Others MAKE them hate themselves by decent people rejecting them, and only other rejects desiring them. I don’t want to be desired by regular/typical rejects. I don’t want to be the consolation prize someone settles for. I don’t want to be the manifest of someone’s poor taste or weird fetish. I don’t want to be a reject who has to make do with other rejects. But being repeatedly made a reject through rejection, and repeatedly being courted by other rejects, is what fuels self-hate. It never, ever, comes from within. Others need to tell you you’re worthless before you think you are.

Children are simple creatures who are born with only one concern: themselves and loving/gratifying themselves. Self-hate is an unnatural thing to come from within. It needs to be taught because it’s against a child’s primitive instinct of self-love which fuels the desire for self-preservation.
Meaning nobody hates themselves before a significant number of people tells this person that he or she should hate him/herself. Self-hate and a bad attitude is a result of rejection, not the cause. Nobody rejects themselves before significant individuals or numbers of people start giving reasons. It’s not natural. Vanity and narcissism are natural. Self-hate is one step away from letting your predators spot you, hunt you down, and eat you. Such an attitude is beaten into you. It does not come from within, ever.

Do you think a disfigured and deformed child who lives in a sheltered environment where nobody dares sneer or scorn at it or show any negative reaction, will think of itself as ugly, a freak, or unlovable? No. Look at Adalia Rose. Sorry, she’s ugly. But no one she ever encounters, tells her so. Everyone around her makes sure she feels pretty, so she believes she is. She is not aware of her appearance being typically considered a bad thing, because nobody teaches her to think that way. Neither did I until others started to bully me for being fat. Children don’t hate their appearance until they get punished for it. People become uncomfortable with their flaws when they are pointed out as flaws by others.

“His loss” when he doesn’t like’em fat?

The trope I’m sick of hearing, is when people, usually women about men, say that if a man rejects a woman because of her appearance, he’s an asshole and doesn’t deserve her.


Well, kind of. See, the human brain is wired to make you feel good when you’re looking, tasting, touching, hearing, or smelling something you consider good/pretty/tasty. Pleasant. The opposite of this, elicits the opposite or at least leaves you cold. This is true for food, and this is true for people. It is especially true for sexual attraction.

For ease and brevity and to stay on the general topic of obesity from my female POV, I will focus on men’s likes and dislikes, and narrow those down to weight.

I’m not saying that all men always feel repulsed by all fat women, but when an individual man considers obesity unattractive or ugly or otherwise unpleasant, he can’t make his brain give him a boner regardless. You can’t make yourself like something. It’s not about being a bad person. It does not make you a bad person for rejecting someone whose appearance makes your brain ooze chemicals that say “Noooooooo!”. Being an asshole about it, makes you a bad person. Be nice with your rejection. Be nice to all who haven’t wronged you.

I have tried feeling attracted to people for their being a perfect fit or available to me. This included fat guys. They were great friends and I loved them dearly, but their appearance told my brain to not give me the hots for them sexually. Sadly so. I had an emotional attachment because of our pleasant mutual experiences, their affection for me, but when it comes to sexual attraction, being ignited by someone’s physique does matter, and the brain decides whether or not their looks ignite you.

In this sense, I’ve had many crushes but only felt sexually “ignited” as in attracted, by those I and my brain agreed were good-looking. I could have had and probably enjoyed sex with the others too, but “the hots” would not have been there. It would have been “nice” for being with that emotionally dear person, but I would not have been attracted physically and the sex would therefor have been kinda lame, nice but not steamy. And I’m only talking about those I didn’t consider downright ugly.

A fat sweaty guy repulses me, sorry to say. Am I a bitch for enjoying his company as a friend, appreciating his wit and humor, his knowledge, his helpfulness, our adventures together, but shudder at the thought of sleeping with him? Hello – I don’t believe in courtesy fucks. The guy is a great friend for all intents and purposes, EXCEPT for fucking and for the relationships built partially on fucking, like boyfriend or husband things. The same way, my male friends adored and respected me as their friend, but cannot be blamed for not wanting more when it’s the skinny flat girls that happen to “ignite” them sexually. Though one recently admitted he’d had a secret crush on me back then.

It’s not just about weight. Others are repulsed or attracted by height, skin color, hair, teeth, racial features etc. Physical attraction does matter however, when you want to connect sexually. While I consider language skills sexy in a guy, in the end I don’t give a fuck about his degree when I’m supposed to lick his belly. That’s when his belly matters. I realized long since that my fetish for power and authority only works in theory/fantasy. When the uniform comes off and the gun is hung at the coat rack, he better be toned, tall, and Middle-Eastern. Hookers are only picked by intellect and personality when needed to accompany you to some show-off event or when you actually just want company, yes, some pay just for talking and eating. A man who only or mainly wants sex, picks looks his brain tells him he likes. I’ve read reviews on hookers that really trashed them for “bedside manners”, but hailed their sexy bodies and announced many more visits in the future. Lesson learned: when it comes to fucking, your looks matter very much. A committed relationship of course requires both: sexual attraction and emotional connection. But it really, really, does need both, whatever either entails or is based on.

Yes, sometimes emotional connections are so strong that you just accept the unattractive body of your partner and marry and love and hump them anyways and that’s beautiful, but very often such partners end up being cheated on because while they are loved for their inner values, the sex isn’t hot enough for lack of attraction. Even if there is no adultery, there is likely to be more attraction and temptation by other types, looks, secret fantasies, and lots of secret porn with “better” bodies. There’s a difference between hungrily humping someone because you love being close to them (inner values), or because the blood rushes to your genitalia (physical attraction). Both can work without the other, but it’s only natural when they don’t, which is the case more often than not. You will not love and screw your unnatractive partner for their looks, but in spite of them. Egh, sounds less than great.

So not wanting your best friend because she’s fat, doesn’t make you a horrible person. Being mean about it, does.

Regardless and by-the-way-ish, some reject their fat admiror in spite of physical attraction being there. This is especially the case in young men who reject fat girls because they are or believe to be socially expeced to want the type that is commonly considered hot. They want a show-off girlfriend while secretly yearning for that nice chubby class mate. They are scared it hurts their pride, respectability, or manhood to show up with a fatty; this is very similar to closet gays obsessing over how they love tits in public while hurting inside and wanking off to gay porn when alone. Coming out of the closet, or openly dating fatties, often comes with age and experience and the confidence these factors bring along. On discussion platforms revolving around free love, swingers, and hookers, many men will tell you that while skinny girls are pretty to look at, those with love handles and cushions are often preferred for both physical attraction, and handling rough sex better. Men tend to like big tits and big asses, but only with age comes the reconciliation with the reality that big tits and asses usually mean that everything else is big, too. And who in his right mind, would say no to a nice pair of big tits, just because they come with a sizable belly?

A note I just remembered: a person can consider certain features attractive or unattractive in general, but still feel genuinely attracted to or repulsed by individuals with those features because other features of theirs are perceived as more important on a case-by-case basis. For example, if 10 men reject me for my fat ass and can’t focus on my pretty face instead because the ass matters more to them, 10 more men may not like my fat ass, but feel so attracted to my facial beauty that the weight is outweighed by it. And yeah, some man really love a fat ass.

Being Fat makes you Fat and only Fat

People of all ages, but younger people (up to 30) especially, tend to reduce fat people to just being fat. They blatantly disregard everything else. Not even big tits distract so much from other aspects of a person’s appearance or personality or background, as obesity. You can be a black cyclops with 3 feet dreadlocks and 4 arms, your obesity will probably still be what people remember you for. Skinny celebrities often have their eyes or tits or hair mentioned. Fat celebrities are just fat. No one cares about their eyes, their hair, their fashion sense – unless it emphasizes their fatness. Britney Spears is very pretty and makes very replacable (as in: un-unique) music. If she were fat, her music would not sell. Hell, when she gained weight, her entire performance was shit-talked all over the media for that sole reason. When you’re fat, you’re only fat. You’re not pretty, not talented, not generous, not smart, not educated, not witty (maybe “funny” thanks to your potential to elicit fat jokes). You’re just fat.

I’m fat, always have been, though I was born tiny. My diapers could serve as sleeping bags. Well, but I got fat. Don’t know how exactly. I think it was partly because the medication I had to take for my severe epileptic seizures made me irritable and hugry, and the irritability was only soothed by eating. Or something like that. So I had a good reason. But then the good reason became a vicious cycle because constant irritability made me eat all the time, and so I got fatter, and more irritated what with the anti-fat bullying, and when the bullying broke me and made me hate my body, food was the only comfort.

But while being fat, I was a lot of other things and still am, but nobody cares.
On both sides of my family, I have by far the prettiest face. Very Jewish, except that I do have a chin. Big eyes, and haven’t aged in a decade. Full lips that don’t need make-up. A straight nose, hollow cheeks and prominent cheekbones. No double chin. Actually, I have the face of an anorexic, strangely, while I have the ass of Beth Ditto. My face is timeless; I still get away with saying I’m 19.
I have a very womanly shape. Big rack but not excessive, narrow waist, and wide hips. Hourglass shape, basically, and very much so. Wide, narrow, wider. Big-as-fuck hourglass, but damn well more womanly formed than many skinny chicks.

I fuck well.

Since age 3, I was lauded, prized, commissioned, and praised by many, not only those who liked me, for my artistic skills. This includes graphic arts, but also literature. Well-respected photographers have sat down with my father to see how to market me. I’ve had short stories and poetry published in anthologies and competitions. 2,608 people have subscribed to my artwork on deviantART, and more do every day. Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed by commissions and requests, that I ignore them all. I’m a damned good graphic artist, photographer, and writer. I don’t have a college degree and still got a job normally reserved for people who do, for my self-taught writing and largely self-taught language skills.

I speak 6 languages fluently enough to hold intelligent conversations. These languages include Hebrew and Japanese.

I’ve rescued animals in ways most people would be too dumb to even think of; this includes thermos bottles and acting skills to smuggle them on international flights. And are you familiar with Israeli airport security for those who do not hold an Israeli passport? I still did it. Speaking of rescues, I’ve raised hundreds of newly-hatched axolotls, and seemingly hopelessly sick kittens. I’ve nursed dying rodents back to health. I gave all for some of my pets and shied no efforts.

I have strength and stamina. While I can’t run or climb much, and while I have piss-poor waterborne coordination, I can walk for hours without complaining, much unlike many of my skinny to normal friends of various ages. I can walk for hours with heavy luggage under a brutal sun with no protection, without complaining. I can stand in the sun all day without food or water and only get a bit cranky. Don’t get me started on sex; I’d probably win any gang bang competition if I wanted my fat ass that exposed. I can go all night and still want more, let’s leave it at that. Never walked the awkward walk of too-much-sex. After a botched thigh lift, I dragged my bleeding, butchered, gaping, 15 inch thigh wounds from Lebanon via Hungary to Belgium with no wheel chair, no assistance, and a heavy-ass suit case and a dog. Having had no money for a cab, I walked, stood on public transport, and dragged myself and my stuff up and down stairs with thigh lift wounds that were far from closing any time soon. None the weaker. I carry my 15kg cat food on my shoulder, up the hill of my city, by myself because I’m too cheap to get a cab or tip delivery guys. When my 35 kilo Akita broke down from the heat, I carried him for half a mile. When that same dog was in trouble, I saved him by hurling him single-handedly over a fence higher than myself and I’m 175 cm tall. My first attempt at push ups: 15 successful push-ups. Spontaneous I’m-so-bored push ups: 24. Static cycling at high resistance level, record 40 minutes waiting for my trainer like a dunce. 3 days hunger strike out of sheer anger. None the weaker. When I get sick, rarely a fuck is given and I still function. If I don’t, it’s usually because I enjoy the days off obligations and meditate myself into a sickly state I can snap out of any time to convince sceptics.

I’m persuasive. When I talk to people face-to-face, whether I end up getting my way (more often than not) or not, they will be impressed. I’ve hijacked the authority of many a teacher, got the entire class room to revolt or join me on a trip, lead a gang at age 11, and many parents wanted me away from their kids because my influence was too strong. I can talk my way into nice discounts at many check-in counters and talk my way out of tickets, fines, and arrests as long as I keep my calm. The smuggled kittens I mentioned before, well, I didn’t hide them. I talked them onto the plane.

I’m brave. I may have my little phobias, I’m scared of interpersonal conflict and emotional clashes with loved ones, but when it comes to reasonable fears or dangerous situations, I keep a-thinking all the while keeping a good response and reaction time. This goes for standing amid 5000 rioting Palestinians as the only and overt Zionist and taking pro-level pictures with the calm of a dead rat, and this goes for dodging cars on a no-shoulders muddy freeway in the pouring rain (as a pedestrian). This goes for getting lost in a village in the arse of rural Japan at night, and this goes for standing up to 5 thugs and evading their attacks at the same time as planning mine.

I’m intelligent above average. My IQ tested 137 at age 6, but regardless, if I weren’t an overthinker who can’t let go of inner emotional and moral conflict, aka bad conscience, and who doesn’t want to get caught and locked up, I would be a criminal mastermind. For fun, and in anger, I’ve plotted many a perfect crime. One was posing as a messy and confused cleaning lady who forgot her cleaning cart near a room crowded with people I disliked (a dislike unknown to most). My cart would contain a bucket of what my persona would’ve considered a safe and strong mixture – bleach and ammonia. I’d run like hell before being affected because, hey, diarrhea, bad tiramisu. Credible reason for not being gassed along with everyone else. I would actually have deliberately made myself sick to prove that was why I fled the crime scene. Mass murder, and I’d be believed to be too flaky to know any better. No one could accuse me of ill will: I am known to be flaky and messy and do stupid things in moments of ADHD-overload, and remembering a few difficult moments from my past would have provided face and tears of phony remorse. I don’t get why the Mossad don’t want me.

I’ve traveled more countries than I can remember, am well-read and know a lot of not so mainstream shit. I’ve been to Japan, the Palestinian territories, war zones, New York, and wrestled a dolphin. I’m book smart and street smart, I learn fast how to operate most devices without reading the manual, I assemble my furniture alone, I’m great at puzzles, trivia, and animal stuff. While I’ve walked out of all my college studies before getting my degree, and failed most exams for ADHD-related concentration issues, I’ve learned nearly enough to hold my own in the applied subject matter of film making, from the summary to marketing the finished product. And crafts you throw at me, if it intrigues me, my first attempt is likely to turn out nice. If something interestes me, I master it without sitting down with the text book. I like + I try = I can.

I’m damned funny and manage to make most people laugh effortlessly whenever I want. Not fat-funny but jokes/remarks/impressions/anecdotes funny. I have interesting stories of all kinds and come from a hardly sheltered background. If it weren’t for stage fright and forgetting brilliant jokes the moment I think them up, I’d upstage your favorite stand-ups.

I’m caring, generous, patient, I’m thoughtful to a fault and happily wipe after my incontinent old dog. I’d make a great mother. But while I’m really fucking awesome, I’m also fat, so I’m unmarriable to most quality men.

The only thing I really suck at, is anything to do with music. And getting Mr. Right.

But I’m still really fucking awesome. Too bad nobody wants to look past my fat ass.