FATTY GAY

THE SECOND INSTALLMENT FROM OUR NEW ANONYMOUS COLUMNIST ‘FATTY GAY’ WHO TAKES US ON A JOURNEY THAT BEGAN IN THE CLOSET – AND THE FRIDGE

CONFESSIONS OF A COMPULSIVE OVEREATER

JE SUIS FATTY GAY

NEW FEATURE

From seven-years-old, the school playground was torturous. I was shamed and physically and verbally attacked for being queer or fat or both, pretty much on a daily basis. Sticks and stones didn’t break my bones, but their words almost killed me. The young Fatty Gay learned to trust no one, boys or girls. Looking back, it’s not hard to see why I’ve spent years of my adult life in therapy trying to rebuild my shattered self-esteem and self-worth.

It was my therapist who suggested that my early relationship with food could have actually saved my life, before it ended up ruining it. For me, it was clear that if I was going to survive school, I needed protection. I’d already found my savior in food. I ate whatever I could, whenever I could to make myself feel better. And I couldn’t stop. Sweets, chocolates, pastries, big portions at meal times, second, third and fourth helpings, snacks and tuck lunches. As I piled on the pounds, the fat was my protection. But of course the bigger I got the more of a target I became. I was safe hiding at home in front of the TV, but at school I was in danger. I needed rescuing, but by who? Enter the dinner ladies.