I’ve internalized the incessant question I’ve been asked over the years : why can’t you just fix whatever is wrong and get back to life? What’s taking you so long?
I’ve tried everything and I’ve flipped the question every which way looking for an answer. Nothing. Only intense shame smiling back at me. I feel so disgusted by me. I feel so destroyed that I don’t know what to do. I compartmentalize time to keep from being buried too soon. One day at a time. The shame is more bearable that way.
No help. No support. No paved paths. I wish I could be invisible but the comfort eating I’ve been hiding in left indelible, undeniable marks on my body and now I can’t even blend in no more.
What’s worse than a tragedy? A plus size tragedy.