I Hate Mean People.

{WARNING: Long and bitter rant ahead. Those who wish to avoid, particularly those apposed to the idea of violence not just being advocated but imagined with bitter relish, please look away now.}

OK. I get it. I know, alright? I am aware that I am fat. Of course I am aware: it is a fact that cannot escape my notice, just as it hasn't escaped yours. You know and I know and the whole world knows that I AM FAT.

Does it bother me being fat? Well, sometimes. It no longer bothers me as it used to (when, ironically, I was a whole lot thinner than I am now), but I am bigger than I would like to be, yes. I am three stone heavier than my body likes to be – and even at the ideal weight for me, I’m still a good few stone heavier than the NHS declares to be within the “normal” range – and I know that that isn’t good, that it isn’t healthy. I keep meaning to sort it out, but a mixture of compulsive comfort eating and a current unwillingness to do the hard work necessary to change is keeping me that way for now.

In any case, I am a little bothered by it, but not much. I am certainly not as bothered by it as you seem to be, oh random anonymous stranger(s) passing me in the street, which is confusing to me. When you look at me and see me in all my great, flabby glory, I can understand that you might feel sorry for me or think that as a fat person I must be dreadfully unhappy and that nobody could possibly love me looking as I do. I can even understand feeling momentarily repulsed as my size 24 XL self waddles past you. But why, in the name of heaven, is my passing by you noteworthy and distressing enough for you to loudly call attention to it?

It happens all the time. Not every day, maybe – the ‘oh my dear God look at the size of THAT’ looks, now; THOSE happen every day – but enough that it is not a miraculous freak occurrence, but rather a fairly steady epidemic. And every time it happens I react in the same way. I outwardly hold it together, but feel shit for the rest of the day. Because for whatever reason you’re singled out; be it because you’re fat, thin, tall, short, ugly, pretty…It’s not nice, having someone loudly and publicly insult you merely because they can; It just isn’t. In fact it’s actually horrible. And I just don’t understand why it happens. And why it seems to happen to fat people more than it happens to anybody else.

So, random anonymous people: why is it?

I could understand if being fat was catching: that if by walking close to me your lithe, slim-line form would spontaneously mutate, leaving you as fat and (according to you) ugly as I am. Or if you had to sit next to me on the bus, or train, or something, as the seats on such things are designed for thin, pretty people like you rather than lard arses like me and my bottom ends up spread across not only the seat I am sat on, but a quarter to a half of the one beside it. Or worse, if I for some obscure reason fell on top of you and by doing so left you gravely injured. THEN you would have reason to complain.

But none of those things have happened here. All that has happened is that you (and possibly all of your friends/family/acquaintances/fellow aliens/innocent members of the public) have walked down the street and seen me coming the other way. I don’t look at you, or speak to you, or jump on top of you, or molest you and your senses in any other way: I am just walking, just as you are. So why the need to snigger and point at me and make comments? I just don’t get it. If you are feeling insecure and want the adulation of your friends/family/acquaintances/fellow aliens/innocent members of the public, surely there are better ways to go about it than making fun of the Passing Fat Girl? Guys, couldn’t you go and spray paint a wall, or shoot tin cans, or something? And girls, couldn’t you go and get your hair or nails done or go and try on clothes to model your perfect size 8-10 little bodies, or maybe, just maybe; not pander to the bitchy-skinny-girl stereotype and grow the hell up? Just a thought.

*Spreads hands*

Or maybe you’re just mean, all you random anonymous strangers that feel the need to SAY SOMETHING to a person that you have never seen before and probably (hopefully) never will again. Maybe it’s just because they’re there and they happen to be bigger than you and that is enough to create a little unhappiness. Is that it? Do you get a kick out of knowing that your nasty snide little remark may well ruin the passing fat person’s day, because yet another arsehole just couldn’t keep your nasty, snide little thoughts to yourself? Really? Is that all it is??

News Flash: fat people exist, but unless you get sat on by one of them their existence really doesn’t affect you, negatively or otherwise. We may walk by you in the street or be in the same building as you or sit in the same carriage as you in a train or behind or in front of you on a bus, but that in itself in no way has any actual impact on your life. Unless we know each other, we are nothing to each other, and our existences shouldn’t matter to either of us beyond that we are two human beings going about their day.

So here’s the thing; unless you are going to tell us that our shoelace is untied, or ask us the time or how to get to somewhere, or need us to help you in some way, or we need you to help us in some way, or some other compulsion for contact not involving trading insults arises, allow us the same courtesy that we have allowed you and LEAVE US THE HELL ALONE.

And to those that enjoy the idea of making someone else unhappy, BE WARNED: because I don’t know about anyone else, but I personally believe that all bullies of all kinds will get their comeuppance one day, if not in this life then in the next. And I have a strong suspicion that there is a special place in Hell reserved for skinny people that make fat people miserable; a place where you get sat on and kicked and punched by the very people you made fun of in your previous smug skinnier-than-thou existence. Oh, and then all the fat people will draw up a stool to the dining table and will feast on a 10 course meal, enjoying every mouth-watering bite, while you, racked with starvation, can only watch.

So there.

…Oh, and for the record; whatever startling witticism you think you have dreamt up, chances are that it isn’t as brilliantly original as you think it is. We may not get accosted every day (I certainly don’t, thank God), but it happens enough that over the space of even a short lifetime, we have pretty much heard every variation of “you’re fat” and “you’re ugly” and “you’re fat AND ugly” that has ever been uttered.*

So you’re not original. You’re not funny. You’re not cutting-edge, or whatever-the-heck else it is called. You’re just an idiot. A pathetic, mean, stupid idiot who may or may not have a special place reserved for you in Hell ready for when they die. And you never know; whilst going blithely about your business, one day you may very well pick on the wrong fat girl/guy and find yourself on the receiving end of a beating such as you have never imagined.

And when that happens, if I’m around, I am going to laugh for a few minutes before I take pity and call an ambulance to rescue your sorry, spiteful arse, because you bloody deserve it.

This is angry Alice; signing off.

* I do give admiring credit to the teenager who took one look at me while I was in my thick, dark work fleece and exclaimed in an overly loud stage whisper to his friend that I looked like a; “giant black jelly baby”, because while it was a mean thing to say, it was quite true. And though considering the rest of my rant it may be hypocritical, I found it to be hilariously funny.