Last Night Was A Bad Night

I was at work last night and a couple of things happened that on their own I could deal with, but together, I was overwhelmed. This is probably going to be quite a long-winded post because for each thing, there is a bit of background that I should explain.

Now, as many of you who read this will know, I work in a bar in Dundee and one of the doormen I have the misfortune to work with is a pretty big guy. Now, I'm good friends with one of the guys behind the bar, and because we get on, naturally everyone at work assumes that we have a thing, you know? He's recently got a girlfriend and said doorman and I were having a bit of banter about it.

Doorman: "Suzi, are you gutted X is off the market now? Haha!"

Me: "Oh yeah, I'm heartbroken, I've not been sleeping, not been eating, just been crying all the time..."

Doorman: "Now Suzi, let's not lie, I can see you've been eating..."

Needless to say, I was a little speechless, but I recovered myself and just laughed along, acting like I wasn't a little bit wounded. It was a quiet night so the doormen were in and out a lot, just chatting to punters and bar staff and drinking juice, as you do. Now, there's a running joke behind the bar between me and a few of the guys that I have a bit of a ghetto booty and that, generally, my arse is always getting in the way (which frankly, is hilarious because it's true). A group of us were standing having a chat about why male customers occasionally think it's okay to slap you on the arse, even though they don't know you at all. One of my colleagues, continuing with the aforementioned joke quipped that my bum is a pretty hard target to miss. I didn't take it personally at all because it's all a joke and I'm aware of it, and I don't really mind at all. I turned to the doormen, who were also involved in the chat, and mentioned that my colleague had just said I had a fat arse. Douchebag doorman responded with "Oh, I don't know, I'd say it was pretty pert." Laughter ensued and I wandered off to wash glasses and serve customers for a bit. I went back up to the end of the bar and said doorman decided that enough hadn't been said.

Doorman: "Suzi, i just realised that was far too close to a compliment. What I meant to say, was you've got a pretty pert arse for a big girl."

For a big girl? FOR A BIG GIRL?!?!?!?!?! Now, let's make one thing clear, recently I've lost over a stone and I'm below the national average size, I'm a 12/14 with big boobs and a big bum, I have strong, muscular legs and yeah, I'm maybe a little chubby round the edges, but I am by no means a "big girl".

For some reason, the doorman was surprised when I refused to speak to him after that. I should probably tell you that by my estimations, said doorman is around 27/28 stone in weight, and has no neck to speak of. As I continued to work, I kept bottling up everything that I could say about how he has no right to judge me based on weight, how he should stop projecting his own unhappiness onto other people, and should be aware that he has absolutely no idea what is going on in someone's personal life, and how comments like that can affect them. I was seething, quite literally so angry that I felt sick and I was shaking. The bar closed and the doormen were making sure everyone was finishing their drinks and leaving. I was cleaning glasses and cleaning behind the bar when said doorman asked if I was still not speaking to him. I put my glasses down and walked away, still cleaning and seething inwardly. Now, I just about could have coped with that, the doormen left, I had a bit of a rant, and one of my colleagues who had finished work and was had been drinking, commented that his pint had gone dead, I looked at it.

Me: "Yeah, it's a bit shit isn't it?"

Colleague: "Yeah, like your love life."

Ouch. I am very aware that my romantic life is currently an abject failure but it would be nice if I didn't get it thrown in my face. He was drunk, so I don't take it personally now, in the clarity of daylight, but at the time, it was one comment too much, and I started crying (frankly, humiliating). So yeah, that's why last night was a shit night.

Now that I've explained the long-winded back story, I'll get to the actual point of this post:

IT IS NEVER OKAY TO MAKE DEROGATORY COMMENTS ABOUT SOMEONE'S WEIGHT.

If you're friends with someone and you're all having a bit of banter, maybe that's okay, but it is never okay to call someone fat when they're not, especially when you know their weight is something they are insecure about. Fat-shaming is not okay, if someone is a nice person, they're a nice person, regardless of what weight they are, and that should be the focus of any judgement you want to throw at someone, the kind of person they really are, not what their bathroom scales read.

In a weeks time, I'll be in France on a rowing training camp with a lot of girls who I am very aware are smaller than me, and a lot of guys who will no doubt realise that, but I'm trying really hard not to get caught up in the dieting and exercise panic that comes with a holiday like that. Comments like that don't help at all. People can be cruel, but there is no need for it. To call someone fat when they're curvy and perfectly healthy is cruel. To enforce your own ideas of physical perfection on someone else is cruel, and to do it when you yourself are morbidly obese is just hypocritical.

I've been thinking about this a lot, I didn't get much sleep you see, and my body is strong. My body is strong enough to carry me where I need to go, it is strong enough to run at the gym, it is strong enough to propel a boat through water, it is strong enough to push me 19561m on a rowing machine (that took 100 minutes and was hell by the way), it is strong enough to carry a child if I choose to, it is strong enough to breastfeed and raise that child, to lift it, carry it and love it. My body is strong, and I should be proud of it. There are day's when I'm not, everybody has those days, no matter what their body type, but I refuse to hate my healthy, strong body, just because some bastard of a doorman is insecure in his own.

I may not like my body sometimes, some days I have fat days and I hate it and I want to curl up in my bed and not eat. But there are more days now when I love my body, when I look in the mirror and don't see a disgusting fat blob, but see a beautiful, womanly body, strong enough to do anything I want.

So yeah, before you comment on anything as sensitive as someone's weight, remind yourself that you don't know what is going on in their personal life, if they have medical conditions, if they've just lost a loved one and have turned to food, if they're in recovery for an eating disorder. Unless you know them well, you have no way of knowing and if you don't know them well, it will never be your place to comment on their weight at all.

University Might Just Be The Death Of Me...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

I'd say that's better but it's not really. 3 deadlines in ten days is just a bit too much, especially when two of them are so dull and dry that you end up ready to gouge out your own eyes. It's so difficult to feel like I'm getting anywhere at the moment, but I suppose everyone else on my course is feeling the same, even the clever ones. We had the same situation last semester, and it was brought up in the school forum, but no-one listened. The lecturers don't communicate between modules and we still don't have any of our coursework back at all. A lot of the work I'm having to do at the moment is really, really repetitive, with some of it being almost exactly the same as something we've already done. I just find it so hard to motivate myself and focus when there is no effort being made by my lecturers to keep our course fresh and interesting so instead of doing my work, even though I want to get it out of the way, I'm gorging on junk food and cans of relentless and catching up on TV shows that I've never even paid much attention to before. I know there are certain things that we have to do in our course to get a BPS accreditation at the end of it, but so do other universities and the majority of their stuff seems a lot less dry. I know that it all comes down to what your lecturers actually research and what not, but seriously, only having one or two really interesting tutorials, and one semi-decent bit of coursework in an entire year isn't going to inspire students to continue to work hard and really pursue psychology outwith the safe bubble of university life.

I suppose I'm just having a rant because I'm stressed and unmotivated (and I am friends with the Dean of Psychology on Facebook and I'm not sure how he would take my ranting if he saw it). End of rant :)

I'm Writing This for Reasons

Mostly, I'm procrastinating. It's a horrible habit of mine, but it seems that coursework-wise, I do my best work under pressure. Believe me, I envy the people who can sit down two weeks before a deadline and fire out half a well thought out essay then just tidy it up over the next fortnight. That isn't me at all, I leave it until the last possible moment, I think in some ways, the pressure helps to focus my thoughts and clear my head or at least it usually does and I'm sure it would this time if it weren't for the fact that I'm having to write about an unutterably dull, dry language paper on sentence processing and syntax and find papers that criticise it. Boke.

I've had one of those days where it's actually very difficult to focus on anything even remotely important. I was up at Ninewells at 9am for an Endocrinology appointment today where the nice doctor told me that my seemingly polycystic ovary shouldn't cause me that much of a problem because it's functioning almost normally. However, my hormones are still all crazy and stupid so I've been used as a pin cushion and had enough blood taken to save a small child from some grievous injury and, get this, he's wanting me to do a test for Cushing's Disease (which, having looked at the symptoms and what not would actually explain a lot). On Sunday night, I have to take theses two pills between half 11 and 12 and then I'm away off to the nurse for more needle-based fun between 8.30am and 9.15.

Cushing's is all to do with levels of Cortisol (stress hormone) in the body and what happens when they get out of control. In one type of Cushing's, this can be attributed to certain medications and what not, but seeing as I'm not on any medication, I'm pretty certain that it wouldn't be that kind. The other kind results from a tumour on the pituitary or adrenal gland. What fun.

I get that the doctor is just covering all his bases and running with my symptoms, but I think I was happier when it was just a polycystic ovary and a slightly dodgy thyroid. Don't get me wrong, he didn't say for certain that I have Cushing's, in fact, he said that it was unlikely but that there were one or two things which meant it might be a possibility. I'm not getting myself actively worked up about it but I feel like with three university deadlines in 10 days, all my medical, hormonal crap could have come at a better time.

The worst thing about all these deadlines and appointments is that I've barely even had time to think about what I want to do after uni, much less talk about it or do any really intense research about my options. I suppose for the moment I'll have to content myself with being a slightly unhinged, hormonal student. Only four more weeks and then it's the holidays and I can breathe a huge sigh of relief.