Friday, November 27, 2009

NaNoWriMo, Scott's Story, Chapter Twenty-Two - In Scott's Eyes

Chapter Twenty-Two, Fat is Funny – In Scott’s Eyes
2009 – Present Day – Mom is 60, I am 35, Julie is 32

Everybody thinks fat is funny. I laugh at fat people too. But not as much as I used to, that’s for sure. Mostly I just feel sorry for them. Like I feel sorry for myself. I know what they go through, being overweight in this world. But I get mad sometimes, at all the people who are just a little bit fat, and they go and get the gastric bypass, and they’re instantly skinny. I feel like too many people use that surgery as an easy way out. For people like me, it’s a more necessary option, but for someone who is only 50 or 60 pounds overweight, it just seems lazy.

I feel like a recluse quite often these days. I rarely ever go out in public anymore. It’s just too hard. It hurts physically, but the other part is worse than that. People look at me like I’m a leper. Like they might catch fat if they get too close. Like it’s contagious. I wish I could just walk through a store and nobody looks at me, I’m normal. But it never happens. First of all, I can’t WALK through the store at all. I have to ride a cripple cart. There’s no way I could make it around without one. And there’s only a few of them around I can even fit in anymore. So, people don’t just look, they stare. Sometimes they even follow me down an aisle, maybe to see what I’m getting, maybe because they’ve just never seen someone as big as me. Whatever the reason, it hurts. I feel like a spectacle. Like a freak at a carnival. I try to ignore it, but you can’t ignore something like that. Every way you turn your head, there’s another person staring, laughing, pointing, dropping something other than just their jaw.

No one ever talks to me, or just says “hello”. They mainly say things to the people next to them, things like “God, he’s fat!” or “Wow!” or “Look at THAT!” or my favorite, “Jesus Christ! What’s HE doing in a GROCERY store?!?!” Assholes. They don’t stare or make fun of old people, or ugly people, or other fat people. Just me. I guess the other fat people look skinny when I’m around. Good for them. At least I give ‘em a break, if I can’t get one myself. So, I don’t go out very often. Julie is always telling me that I should try and go out somewhere for recreation, to meet new people. That, when they get to know me, they’ll treat me differently and it’ll make me feel better. She just doesn’t understand the anxiety I have, and how bad it is for me out there. I know she’s seen it, I know she knows it happens, but she just doesn’t get how painful it is, I don’t think. I’m sure she’s right, though. If people actually got to know me, instead of judge me from the outside, I’d probably have more friends, more things to do. But it just feels like an impossible task, and makes me nervous and tired just thinking about it. Besides that, it is really too painful for me, physically. My pain has gotten so bad, it takes my breath away after only a few steps now. My knees have no cartilage left, my back is screwed up in every place, and the whole of my body just hurts constantly. I wouldn’t even be able to move if I didn’t have pain pills. And I hate those too, but at least they keep me mobile, or as mobile as possible anyway.

What I do most days now, is lay in bed, in-between short chores, and watch t.v. There are a lot of motivating shows on now about losing weight, but there are more shows where fat is still funny. Sometimes I still catch myself laughing along, but it’s because I temporarily forget that I’m fatter than that. I’m fatter than ALL of that. The only other people I’ve seen on t.v. that are as fat as me, have been on TLC. “The Half-Ton Teenager”, “The 1000 Pound Dad”, there are a few of them. Most of them die, or fail at losing any significant weight. It’s sad, and I think about myself and what’s gonna happen to me. I don’t feel good at all, physically, or mentally most of the time, and I wonder all the time if I might not wake up one day soon. If my heart will just give out. I wonder what’s going to happen to Mom and Julie, how they’re going to react. I wonder where they’ll have a funeral, and sometimes I can even hear what people will whisper. “This didn’t have to happen”, “Why did he let himself go this bad”, “It’s probably better off”, “Now his mom and sister can get on with their lives”, “There’s nothing more any of us could do, was there?” I hate that this is what people will say, instead of saying things about what I have accomplished, or who I am as a person. Julie will probably speak about me like that, instead of the bad stuff. But only Julie. Everyone will cry, I’m sure, but mostly for Mom and Julie, not because I’m dead.

There’s really not much that’s funny about being fat. Not being able to breathe isn’t funny. Not being able to walk isn’t funny. Being laughed at, stared at, pointed at, isn’t funny. Losing faith in everything isn’t funny. Wishing you were dead isn’t funny. Loneliness isn’t funny. Seclusion isn’t funny. Food isn’t funny. Fat just isn’t funny, no matter how you look at it. But don’t tell the rest of the world that, because maybe they might actually have to find something that really is funny, and stop bringing attention to everything but themselves, and their own flaws. Now, that’s funny. But not really funny “ha, ha”.

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