Yesterday something peculiar happened to me. It all started off quite jovial. The night before, a couple of friends and I from Andy’s Man Club participated in a local pub quiz. It’s something we’ve been doing every week for a couple of months now, it’s a nice social activity, the only social activity I have on a regular basis and since I’ve been doing it, it has helped lift my mood and give me something different to concentrate on than the misery of super morbid obesity, depression, anxiety and existential angst.
Surprisingly, we actually managed to finish top for the first time this week. We’ve finished second a couple of times but there are a couple of regular teams that participate in lots of pub quizzes that are much better at it than us, but it was a low scoring night and we got a bit of luck.
The prize was a certificate and a voucher that could be spent at the pub but it expired in 6 days so we couldn’t use it at the following weeks quiz so we decided we would come down and have a meal there the next day (Monday) before our Andy’s Man Club group.
So, yesterday we were enjoying our meal and catching up when a lady walked in the pub, carrying a carrier bag in one hand and went to the area where the sauces were kept, next to our table. She picked up a bottle of ketchup and pointed out it was empty and put it on our table. I got the impression that she was lonely and possibly had learning difficulties. I don’t mean that in an unkind way but it was unusual behaviour.
She then sat down on the table next to us and was listening to our conversation as if she wanted to get involved and make friends. She was at this time with a man who joined here, clearly someone she knew.
It was towards the end of the meal, we finished and paid, then went outside. By this time the weather had taken a turn and it was raining. The other two lads were smoking so I stood and chatted with them under the shelter outside. The woman came out and approached us again, asking one of my friends if they had a spare cigarette, and he politely declined, she then walked further into the car park.
I heard her mumble something about “fatties” but I didn’t hear the whole thing, I was chatting with my mates. Then she began talking louder, directed at me asking “how much do you weigh” and “how many stones”. It was not like this lady was on the thin side herself. I just ignored her, but she kept repeating herself, not taking the hint that I was not interested in engaging in conversation with her.
When I was a young boy, I was very shy and sensitive. You would probably describe me as a “mummy’s boy” but having had a weight problem almost my entire life, I grew a thicker skin. I had to, it was the only way to survive. I’m used to street harassment. I’m used to people shouting insults out of vans as they go past. I’m used to people in fire stations calling me names as I walk past, ironically, on a walk to boots to get myself weighed following another week of trying to lose weight. I wrote another article about how I used to dye my hair bright colours as a deflection technique, as I’d rather people stare at me because of my hair than my body.
I’m not trying to sound like a victim or make you feel sorry for me. It’s just the reality of being super morbidly obese, you stand out and the majority of people will treat you with respect, but others won’t. It’s not pleasant but often those people have got their own insecurities too.
I try not to let it get to me. Sometimes it does, for example when it comes from young children because it’s not malicious, they’re just saying what they see. It hurt a lot when it came from my own nephew but there’s a lot of water under the bridge and I love him to pieces, he is a fantastic young man.
There was a time when a prostitute picked me out as a potential customer when I was at a private work party, I didn’t realise what she was or what she was trying to do at the time, but our HR lady protected me but the thought that she singled me out, probably because of my size and the thought I might be desperate, made me feel very icky inside.
The truth is though, nobody can hurt me based on my weight anywhere even close to the way I feel about it myself. Believe me, when your head is full of thoughts of how many men it would take to carry the weight of your coffin, or how big that coffin would need to be or how they’d need to send you to a special zoo incinerator to have you cremated, there is absolutely nothing more painful than those thoughts. “You fat bastard” doesn’t really cut it.
Actually, the experience yesterday wasn’t a negative one at all. I put it down to her having her own mental health issues and it was like water off a ducks back but what made this such a positive thing for me was that my friends got really angry with her and fought my corner. I don’t think that has ever happened before, not because people are bad, but most of the time the comments come when you’re on your own. It was such a nice feeling that these guys had my back and that it actually upset them more than it did me.
After going to the AMC group, we went back to the pub for a bit and had some really good, honest personal conversations and it was really nice. It’s difficult to be open and honest because it puts you in a vulnerable position. I think to an extent we all wear these masks, like an exoskeleton to protect the mushy fleshy bits inside that are easily damaged but sharing that load, learning to listen and be compassionate and empathetic and share the truth that sometimes life is really hard is such a great thing. It takes some of that weight off your shoulders and makes you realise that however much it feels like you’re the only one going through this stuff, you’re actually not alone and have more in common than people than you think.
Andy’s Man Club has been a really positive influence on my life. I still have ups and downs and the downs can sometimes feel inescapable, terminal even. I will always have mental health issues and I will always be fighting a battle against food addiction but I know now I’m not on that journey alone and that there are people out there that understand me and willing to share this imperfect experience we call life together.
Rant Over 