People, Food and Me

Body Shaming has become insanely common these days. What we do not realize is that words hurt more than anything. If you have ever been called ‘fat, skinny, too tall, midget’, this month’s posts are for you. This post is about Fat Shaming.

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My go to therapy for everything has always been food. Whether I am happy, sad or nervous, a delicious, filling meal is always my best friend.
When I feel joyous, eating out is a celebration. When I am sad, baking cakes and eating them with my sister makes me feel better. When I am nervous, I make myself a delicious, nice, warm cup of coffee to enjoy with donuts.

When I am bored, I make a trip to the fridge, just opening and closing the refrigerator door, thinking that something interesting would magically happen, I keep coming to the kitchen.

You see, my relationship with food is like a relationship people have with other people. They tell them a good news to celebrate, talk about whatever is bothering them to feel better. But I, eat.

Eating is like coming home to me. The ‘ding’ of the oven when the cookies are done, the sound of pouring tea in a cup, the sound of a spoon and fork on my plate are like music to my ears. The intoxicating smell of freshly brewed coffee and that of melted cheese on a big slice of pizza, the sight of maple syrup dropping down on pancakes makes my insides go all giddy and I feel like a unicorn dancing on rainbows.

But my happiness can never last for long. My one-man party is disturbed when a passer-by comments on my weight. “How much are you gonna eat? You are too fat already.” A voice reaches my ears, but I ignore. I look at my plate. The food that was previously making me happy, now makes me judge myself. I suddenly become concious.

“They say you are what you eat. Now I see why you look like a cow.” I hear as I am popping a piece of beef in my mouth. I loose all my appetite. I blink back tears and rush home. I drop my bag on the couch and run towards the washroom. I look at the mirror. The girl I see is ‘fat and ugly’. That is not how I felt when I left the house. I felt pretty. But someone else’s words stung. And I don’t want to look at myself anymore.

So I turn around and walk into my room. I see a box of chocolates lying on my bed. But they don’t make me happy this time. I have only one thought in my mind.

My best friend betrayed me.

Food is the reason I hate myself. But I can’t stop myself from eating the chocolates as tears roll down my face.

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