I’ve spent the last half hour staring at this picture trying to come up with an eloquent way to tell you why I love this shitty cell phone shot of Sabrina. I’m not going to find a way, so I’m just going to say it:
Sabrina, you’re a tool for thinking that I was being sarcastic when I said I love this picture of you. You know why I love it? Because right here you are the strong ass, independent woman that is my best friend. You’re fierce as fuck and you know it.
Dude, I think this is like… The one photo I have of you where you aren’t posing and where all of your guards are down. You weren’t trying to be sexy here, you just hanging out with me in the morning smoking a cigarette, like we do every morning we are together.
Your face has become you, your breasts have become you and your stomach has become you because you didn’t care what I thought about them. You owned them. You didn’t give a fuck. You just lit up your smoke and asked to go get food. You’re beautiful here because you’re comfortable in your skin.
Anyway, you’re fierce as fuck. I admire you and miss your pink hair.
Let me explain something; when Sabrina and I were discussing what to do with some of the photos I took, this one stood out. It stood out because it is not flattering. My skin is ruddy, the positioning makes me look larger than I actually am and in my opinion, I look something like a Bull Frog sitting on a toadstool. Ribbit.
This one photo made us both uncomfortable.
Sabrina comes from an angle that is uncomfortable with making fat look unattractive. She doesn’t like my choice in lighting, she doesn’t like seeing someone she believes to be physically beautiful looking like a toadstool. I’ve come to understand that Sabrina believes all people have the ability to be attractive and doesn’t want anyone to misrepresent themselves. During a conversation we had today, she explained her stance by saying “As a Fat Girl, I’ve gotten shit my whole life, and have been lead to believe I am not pretty. With this blog, I hope to inspire other women to believe that one can be beautiful and fat. And I think our goal shouldn’t be to make ourselves look as unattractive as possible.” This is why I love her. She’s a very wonderful and kind person, but beauty and attractiveness aren’t synonymous with one another. I am unattractive here, but I find beauty in it.
When I took this shot, it wasn’t about being fuckable or being attractive. It was about defiance. Like Sabrina, I have gotten shit for my size my entire life. The difference between our experience of that shit is that where she was told that she is flat out unattractive because of her size, (which is absurd, because look at the woman, she’s a fucking babe) I’ve always been told that I have to prove myself to other people. I have to prove that I can be attractive by always wearing the right clothes and always acting the right way. And to be completely honest, I’m sick of it.
My body is not a political or social statement. It’s my body, and it’s the only body I will ever own. I see beauty in this photo because for once I am not trying. For once I don’t feel the need to look like anything other than what I am. This is me, naked. This is how I look when I step out of the shower. This is how I see myself. My skin is red, I have marks all over my body. Maybe these imperfections aren’t always readily apparent to other people, but I am hyper aware of them. Through the choice of editing I made, they are readily apparent to everyone else now. I find beauty in that because I don’t have to hide. I am allowing myself to be unattractive and I am not allowing my worth to be placed on how attractive I feel.
Beauty is what you make it. Sometimes beauty is ugly. The fact of the matter is that I feel beautiful here because I am not hiding anything. It feels liberating.
Maybe this photo is going to receive a lot of shit because it’s not aesthetically pleasing, but I really don’t care. For once I don’t have to hide.
Who Wants to Fuck the Fatty, Anyway?
I will never fully believe you, you know. You can tell me a million times a day how desirable I am to you, and I will never fully believe you. There will always be one nagging part of me that believes you’re lying to me, that I’m a pity fuck. Who would want to pork the fat chick, any way? What makes you so different from everyone else? Why do you want to pork the fatty?
I will lead you on, you know. I will string you along with emotional hugs, long kisses, and hours of talking. I will tell you secrets and let you fall for me. I will be your secret keeper, your friend, and the person that kisses your physical and emotional bruises, but because I will never fully believe you, that I am more than a pity fuck, I can never be yours.
We will never make love. I can never surrender my body to you. It’s too much. I can’t do it. I will fuck you, and you will fuck me, but we will never make love. We will spend hours in the sheets, sweating and breathing, but it will always be there. I will always know that you can do better than me. I will always know that you are settling for me. I will always know that I am just a pity fuck.
There is nothing soft and sweet when we fuck. There can’t be. I can’t let you show me that you care. I can’t believe you when you tell me that I’m desirable, that you want me, that I drive you mad. My fat gets in the way.
When I ache for you to touch me, that is when I will pull away. You can’t touch me. Your touch will fix me, it will unravel so many years of thinking that I am not worthy of affection. Do you understand how much I will lose? Do you know that I am so wrapped up in this belief that it will unravel my entire core? I can’t let you touch me with affection. I don’t think that I deserve it. I don’t want to believe that I deserve it. I don’t want to believe that I can be loved, after all, who wants to pork the fatty?
I’ll start resenting you after that. You’re trying to destroy me. When your anger and frustration get in the way, I was always a pity fuck to you, I’ll rationalize. I’ll never accept that it is my fault. I’ll never accept that you love me. I pushed you away, but I hold onto the notion that I am impossible to love… and I’ll eventually prove myself right.
But maybe I won’t. Maybe, just maybe, you will be the one to fix me, or rather, help me fix myself. It just takes one touch, one spark, one hope that I can be loved by you.
Be patient, maybe you’ll just prove me wrong.
Fat Woman Who Needs to do Laundry
Something To Do With Tits
I have such small breasts. They aren’t proportional to my [not small] body. I am shaped like an ice cream cone. Smaller legs, very wide hips and a large belly, to a smaller upper body. My head is like a cherry, complete with red hair.
When I was younger, I hated that. I did whatever I could to even myself out. Yes, I stuffed my bra on more than one occasion. I would buy bras two cup sizes too big and fill them with tissues. I eventually found pre-padded bras, I still wear them.
Until I was eighteen years old, I was still considering myself to be a “late bloomer”. It was a sad day when I faced the fact that I will always be a 46 B (maybe I’m actually an A, but no store will sell an A cup to a fat woman).
Sometimes I feel unattractive and I hate the way there is always a gap where my cleavage should be. That there is something wrong with me, when I see so many beautiful, large breasted women. Sometimes, I really hate my chest.
Then, sometimes, I feel like a goddess. My small tits are round, they are perky. Lovers have told me that they love my pink nipples, that they are just the right size. I am a rarity for my size. A gem. I am a goddess with my small tits.
Most days, I am in an in between land. Both unattractive and goddess-like. Maybe it’s like this for everyone.