Fatty Fat Fat Talk Part 1

I am a feminist, and what that means to me is much the same as the meaning of the fact that I am Black: it means that I must undertake to love myself and to respect myself as though my very life depends upon self-love and self-respect. - June Jordan

Many a times I fall wide eyed and bushy tailed over the words of intellectuals whom I fancy to be like and wish I could embrace in both a sisterly and romantic way. Yet I find myself kissing the words that they speak as if they will never be spoken again.

Within the this world rotation and growth are always constant. You can never be still with an always moving axis..yet you must find your center. Within this life, as I know it today, I am a self-identified black-jamaican american-lesbian- black feminist- revolutionary- meat eater, in a heterogendered homosexual relationship-with nappy hair, a plus sized woman trying to create my own space by honoring all of me, I am an artist trying to carve my way out of books and intellectual boxes I have placed around myself. This is not an easy task. I sit here today getting ready to face the world.

I have come to the understand that I am my own revolution...I have to treat my body as such. As a woman who is on the path of self love I must acknowledge the pains of the past if I want to grow. It is from here on out that I will begin to share pains of my past open and with out apology or sorories.

Lets begin....

I have recently been dealing with my weight and what my weight means to my health and quality of life. Through a quick evaluation I have realized that my wieght has caused me to feel less then a woman. I look at my body and find every imperfection and flaw...its hard for me to see beauty, feel sexy, or feel pretty. For the most part I can admit that I am cute from time to time. Last monday I had a breakdown at my WeightWatchers meeting and began to felt as if I would never lose weight or begin to love myself. It was suggested to me that I get a book about body image and read it. Being that school is over I picked up..."Hungry For More"...so far it has been a wonderful read. The book has resulted in me thinking about my weight and experiences that I have had with them. So I shall share one as a way to cleanse...

Scene Sixth Grade, Ranchero Middle School (Hesperia, Ca.)

- I was walking across the quad making my way to class after speaking with a counselor (that I saw in secret of course, I was sad all the time and I always felt like crying so I went to the counselor and began going to group therapy and never told my family). As I entered the dipped out section of the quad I looked up at the sun and hurt my eyes...I closed them and enjoyed the light show my eyes embrace with the bright sun provided. I began to think about taking off my jacket and enjoying the heat (I always wore a jacket as protection so that people wouldn't see how big I was and make fun of me). I began to walk and take my jacket off when a group of boys ran from around a corner and starting yelling at me. I knew two of the boys...Mike (a black boy I meet in 5th grade) and Jose (a mexican boy I had a math class with)...the other (white) boys I didn't know. They started yelling at me, calling me a fat cow, they were mooing at me. I tried to get through and walk to class....thats when the ran towards me and tripped me. I was trying to hit them...but I couldn't hit all of them. They started kicking me. They spit on me and called me a fat nigger, I didn't understand why they were doing that and why Mike (the black boy) would let them do it....I felt like he should know better. I held on to my bad, close to my stomach so that they couldn't kick me in the stomach. They kept spitting on me and started pulling my jacket off. They ripped my jacket and I started crying. That's when I heard a whistle and they ran off, the principle Mr. Smith came and helped me up. I ran back to the counselors office and asked if I could stay there with him. He said sure and gave me a pink stuffed pig. The principle came in and told my counselor what happened. I stayed there a for a long while. When I got home I tried to tell my mom what happened...she didn't care. She was mad that my jacket and my jeans were torn. As punishment for not taking care of my clothes I had to wear that jacket and those jeans with out them being patched up.