Fierce

I wish my mood was consistent from day to day. Maybe it’s just that today is Friday, and next week I only work three days. But I woke up just full of piss and vinegar. Just.. Angry. And it feels good. Being angry feels better and better nowadays. An alternative to self loathing and despair, I guess.
Perhaps partially triggered by thinking about my one and only visit to a gynecologist. I went back in oh, 2012 or so? The doctor was a tall, slim, model looking woman and the open distaste she showed at having a fat patient was plain on her face. She had her lips pursed in disgust nearly the entire time she was there with me. She called the pants I was wearing sweatpants. She treated me like I was disgusting. Say what you want about me but even being what I am, I require a doctor to be professional. I never went back to that practice.
I don’t tell people this story because most treat me like I’m a liar, or making it up, or exaggerating it. They’ll try to explain away the doctor’s behavior. I’m kind of sick of that. And you know, if I’m just a liar to other people without actually haven’t told any lies, there’s almost no impetus for me to continue to be truthful. I don’t tell lies, I don’t make up stories, and to be treated like I do is extremely disrespectful. It would be nice if for once someone would take what I say at face value, and not immediately try to undermine me. That, apparently, is too much to ask for.
I don’t want to take shit from people any more. I don’t want to be the doormat my mother is.

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