Spinning the unconscious

I have been having disturbing dreams about my family and sister this week, which is relevant because I don’t think I’d be having them had I not have started this blog.

See, my folks have always hated that I am fat. It has been the source of familial angst since the fatness occurred, so, about when I was 6 years old. I think when parents end up with a fat kid, they feel like failures. And the media doesn’t help that any, of course. What’s worse, I just revealed to them (tada!) that I’m queer. So there’s a double whammy for them. Fat and queer. They likely suspect that I am a witch, so I am hell-bound for sure.

Now we are all not speaking, except for the part where they are stalking me in my dreams, yelling at me about not being fair to my sister regarding our living situation. In fact, I dreamt I received an email from my father about the apartment my sister and I share. I’ve also dreamt that they raged around my apartment, helping her move out and I screamed at them about the legitimacy of my relationship with N and told them to get the fuck out of my house.

Issues, anyone?

For me, the whole fat-witch-queer thing is tied together. I could never hide that I was fat. Um, duh. That’s the whole problem with fat people. We are so fucking visible. I tried losing weight, couldn’t, and they pretty much accept it, save for the hateful comments here and there. They found out I was a witch many years ago and then I pretended I wasn’t and loved sweet baby Jesus to get back into their good graces shortly thereafter, all the while relishing Samhain and Solstice. But now I am queer, and that involves another person with whom I share my life, a whole outlook I always had on the world now exposed and that is simply unforgivable.

Being fat, being a witch, being queer: These are things I am. Living queer is new to me. Practicing witchcraft is about 10 years old. Carrying fat is ancient. The more I delve into how the story of my fat has shaped my life, the more I excavate memories and reveal injustices. The more I tell the story of my body, the more accepting I become of it, and that is so radical, it is affecting my unconscious, dreaming state. It is powerful work we do when we face what we have most feared about ourselves and grant it the right to simply be.


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