Dark Osmosis

Gloomy moments. Light moments. Sink into despair. Recognizing it can't end like that. Is this what it all has funneled my life down to? No. It has to be better. I'll miss something. Something I hadn't remembered. Something I'll have to look forward to. If only I could get over this sense of despair. Can't end it now, otherwise, what was the point of this life?

I don't have a long-term focus on any one thing. Just financial survival. I'll learn how to do something I think I can grasp. But sometimes there's just no getting it. Then it makes me feel sad, stupid, despairing. Can't move forward to feel valuable, if I'm emotionally sunk. How does one get past feeling worthless?

Society says, 'Take pills.' I did take pills. I felt no difference. ‘Get therapy.’ I was in therapy. Cheap therapy. The triage-secretary who check-marked a verbal questionnaire was less than half my age. Couldn't I have just marked my own (very) personal history, and saved my falling apart in front of her? She wasn't even facing me. She had her back to me as she asked me if I was sexually molested. I started weeping as I answered.

She moved on to a new question. Did I drink? No. Was I a drug-user. No. Am I involved in an abusive relationship? No. Have I had thoughts of suicide? Not for really long time. I don't bother explaining why to someone who can't be bothered to face me and my despondency. Suicide isn't an option for me, only because I fear God's wrath on the other side. What if I were to 'end it all', only to discover what's waiting for me is a thousand times worse that what I have here in Life? As sad as it is.

So, I keep breathing. Keep existing. Keep searching for what I can do to make me content. I gave up on happiness years ago.

The few moments of joy I feel is when one of my nieces says something funny, cute, sweet, or imaginative. When they seem eager to share something with me. They include me, despite a society that simply doesn't tolerate obese women in wheelchairs.

That cheap therapy secretary could've deduced what my 'self-hurt' was. If she'd actually faced me, the answer was there. The molestation manifested itself in obesity. Obesity was my safety-net from lecherous people. What person wants to touch a fat chick?

Fat people recognize the camouflaged nastiness, intolerance, and guileful dismissiveness in others. When we’re ignored, it's society-sanctioned incivility. When another purports, "But my best friend is a fat girl/guy," we're being lied to. Your best friend is the one with whom you cut down the 'fat friend' in their absence.

Remember the 'D.U.F.F.' you had in your social circle, in order to (supposedly) 'weed out' the shallow people from your potential friend group? The D.U.F.F.'s already knew what you were up to, didn't like it, and were quietly planning to dump you. A week later—if you even bothered to notice—you were 'Unfriended' on Facebook.

Did you really think fat people were desperate to be in your friendship circle?

Of course not, because fat people are always smarter than you. They live on a steady diet, not of Ding-Dongs and Doritos, but on human reality. Reality was never a dumb-ass, one season-only T.V. show to them. Reality was their Einstein-level of education. We got our Master's degrees in human ugliness via rolled eyes, disappointing sighs, hidden looks to other friends that said 'Oh my gawd, are you kidding me? Why did you think I'd find her/him cool?', or simply walking away when we were speaking to you.

We might laugh at your jokes at social events, but that's just an acceptable prompt to avoid the awkwardness that you're not showing your true colors. We're the translators of your pseudo soul.

Yah...I'm the 'Fucking Fabulous Fat Girl'. 

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