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Fat, much like skin colour, is something you cannot hide, no matter how dark the clothing you wear, or how diligently you avoid horizontal stripes. When you’re overweight, people project assumed narratives on to your body and are not at all interested in the truth. I am the fattest person at this university.’ Photograph: Jennifer Silverberg/The Guardian ‘I think, I am the fattest person in this apartment building. I have been trying to figure a way out of it for more than 20 years. No matter how small a toilet cubicle is, I avoid the disabled toilet because people like to give me dirty looks when I use that stall merely because I am fat and need more space. I try to hover over the toilet because I don’t want it to break beneath me. In public toilets, I manoeuvre into cubicles. I avoid walking with other people as often as possible because walking and talking at the same time is a challenge. Sometimes, they pretend not to know, and sometimes, it seems like they are genuinely that oblivious to how different bodies move, as they suggest we do impossible things like go to an amusement park or walk a mile up a hill to a stadium. If I am with friends, I cannot keep up, so I am constantly thinking up excuses to explain why I am walking slower than they are, as if they don’t already know. There are things I want to do with my body but cannot. I feel like people are staring at me sweating and judging me for having an unruly body that dares to reveal the costs of its exertion. When I walk for long periods of time, my thighs and calves ache. It’s about how I feel in my skin and bones. Feeling comfortable in my body isn’t entirely about beauty standards. What I know and what I feel are two very different things. I’m a feminist and I know that it is important to resist unreasonable standards for how my body should look. It would be easy to pretend I am just fine with my body as it is.
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I don’t hate myself in the way society would have me hate myself, but I hate how the world all too often responds to this body. My memories of the after are scattered, but I remember eating and eating and eating so I could forget, so my body could become so big it would never be broken again. When it was all over, I pushed my bike home and I pretended to be the daughter my parents knew, the straight-A student. I remember that they had nothing but disdain for me. I remember their smells, the squareness of their faces, the weight of their bodies, the tangy smell of their sweat, the surprising strength in their limbs.
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They were boys who were not yet men but knew, already, how to do the damage of men. You may learn how to be the life of the party so that people are too busy laughing to focus on the elephant in the room I was 12 when I was raped by Christopher and several of his friends in an abandoned cabin in the woods where no one but those boys could hear me scream. With the bracing candor, vulnerability, and power that have made her one of the most admired writers of her generation, Roxane explores what it means to learn to take care of yourself: how to feed your hungers for delicious and satisfying food, a smaller and safer body, and a body that can love and be loved-in a time when the bigger you are, the smaller your world becomes.There was a boy.
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In Hunger, she explores her past-including the devastating act of violence that acted as a turning point in her young life-and brings readers along on her journey to understand and ultimately save herself. As a woman who describes her own body as "wildly undisciplined," Roxane understands the tension between desire and denial, between self-comfort and self-care. In her phenomenally popular essays and long-running Tumblr blog, Roxane Gay has written with intimacy and sensitivity about food and body, using her own emotional and psychological struggles as a means of exploring our shared anxieties over pleasure, consumption, appearance, and health. I was trapped in my body, one that I barely recognized or understood, but at least I was safe." I tried to erase every memory of her, but she is still there, somewhere.
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I buried the girl I was because she ran into all kinds of trouble. "I ate and ate and ate in the hopes that if I made myself big, my body would be safe. From the New York Times bestselling author of Bad Feminist: a searingly honest memoir of food, weight, self-image, and learning how to feed your hunger while taking care of yourself.