She died.
In her bed beside her husband.
Of a heartattack.
She was 35.
That was the news I received last week regarding a friend. Only 2 years older than me.
She was also obese. Perhaps even morbidly so by medical terms.
Her funeral was today and I didn't attend.
One reason was work - which I'm sure that had I told my co workers the circumstances they would have granted me the time off. But the real reason is fear.
I don't know if I could look her husband in the eye and not fall apart for him.
How does one even pick themselves up after that? Is it just over?
I know the feeling of heartbreak from breakups - but to know that you will never see the love of your life again? To come home to the place you shared memories - seconds of everyday.
I was also afraid of simple aspect of mortality that it's thrown in my face.
I am 33 years old and could use to loose a few pounds. Food and I have never had a good relationship and I don't assume we ever will. I eat - I'm fat. I don't eat - I'm still fat.
I've tried every fad diet out there - every pill, every drink, and combined with killing myself at the gym 5 times a week. And you know what? That scale has never moved.
Weight and food has been an issue my entire life and has been deemed something of great importance as I was taught by my mother. Fat people are not respected. They're disgusting and lazy. They deserve to be alone because no one wants to be seen with a fat person. Or to even quote a more recent sentiments:
"Fat people shouldn't be allowed to work in restaurants like McDonalds or fast food restaurants because they'll eat everything. They should only be allowed to work at places that only serve salads."
Or this gem:
"You have such a great personality. Don't you think you would be happier and that I could love you if you just lost some weight?"
"You're pretty, BUT, you could be so much more if you were thin"
The last 3 are from a man I recently had the fortune to be rid of.
But the key thing about that, is that he's not the only one in the world thinking that way. It's scary and it terrifies me. It makes me not want to have anything to do with anyone new. It makes me not want to open up - not want to give anyone a chance because in the end they just intend to hurt me. But that's a whole other bag of apples.
Aside from never being able to find a companion I could relate to - the bigger fear here is the recent death and how close am I to dying here alone in my apartment? I don't want that.
So a week ago, I stopped eating.
No ones noticed and if I drink enough tea, it seems to imply to the people around me that things are okay.
Never stop smiling.
Never.
