This rant only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

Who do you think you are? Some deity, who can do as they wish, and have people sacrifice upon their perfect altars? Some king or queen who is given everything they wish for, with everybody bowing at their feet and agreeing? Sycophants, the lot of you!

You say one thing, but think another. You tell those you profess to care about one thing, and then slag off that same thing to others. Who do you think you are? Because your body looks one way, and the world doesn't punch you in the face with societal scorn, what gives you the right to do that to others?

A fat woman, with a pudgy face, strips off and displays her naked flesh. She is comfortable in her ample, sagging skin, confident to express every part of herself. She wants to let the world know that she is a sexual being. She wants to share entirely who she is with the world, what she enjoys, what she has done (even who!).

What do you do? You laugh and retch, and seek to censor her physical form. You make insulting remarks and laughingly agree that she should cover himself, because who would want to see that? Shall we dust her with flour, my bitches? Shall we joke about which flaps to lift to find her inner sanctum?

And now, here is a slim, toned woman, with large breasts, tiny waist, shapely hips, and a pretty face. She is so sexy! What a stunner! At the very least, let us pass her by with no comment, for her pictures may be intimate, but what is offensive about that? Perhaps you wish you looked like her, for she is truly gorgeous. But to mention it would make us look like jealous... Oh wait... we are bitches. Silly me!

A skinny man wears a pair of speedos, and sunbathes on the beach. He wants to feel the warmth of the sun on his pale skin. He is comfortable enough to enjoy the sea breeze and waves on his body and soul. He wants to feel the cares of the day seep away under the kiss of the summer skies.

What do you do? You laugh, and seek to feed him up. You compare him to stick insects, calling him anorexic, and laughingly agree that he must be a wimp who would snap like a twig. Shall we pick our teeth with his fingers, my bitches? Shall we joke about how he hula-hoops with Cheerios?

And now, here is a muscular, toned man, with a washboard stomach, slim hips, and a handsome face. He is so sexy! What a hunk! At the very least, let us ogle our way past him with no comment, for his body may be displayed, but what is offensive about that? Perhaps you wish you looked like him, for he is truly gorgeous. But to mention it would make us look like jealous... Oh wait... we are bitches. Silly me!

The world tells us what is beautiful. Everybody tells us who is sexy and who is not. We all know who is healthy, energetic and allowed to exist with positive or no comments on their looks.

And the world also tells us what is ugly. Everybody tells us who is hideous and who is not. We all know who are unhealthy, lazy, and not allowed to exist without pointing it out and slagging off their looks.

And do you know what? I am sick and fucking tired of it all. You tell me that you wish I would take more pictures of myself, or let you have a photo of me. You try your hardest to convince me that I am a wonderful, beautiful person, and that I only need to gain some confidence. And then you slag off other people who have that very same confidence to just Be. You make remarks about bleaching your eyes, and how you cannot un-see things. You laugh at the physical shape and structure of people.

You are nasty, two-faced, ugly people! Don't try to disguise it, just say it like it fucking is! I have seen your conversations before, and just because I wait before it gets going, don't think I don't know what you're all thinking. I do. You have laid your souls out on the pages for me many times before.

You make comments about how you "care about" my health, because you think inside that I am an overweight, ugly lazy cow. I don't care to hear what you are always going on about! Going on about how much you have lost, or ways to "make an effort", or how you worry about me are pissing me right off! And when you are clearly not that overweight, and I clearly am horribly so, how the hell do you think I feel about myself when you are moaning about the little bit extra you are carrying? Do you think I want to hear you bemoaning the few extra pounds you have, when I am probably enough to be two whole people? And don't you know that going on about how you lost scores of pounds is like kicking me in the teeth when I am already on the ground? Do you actually care that every little comment you make about, "being good", and, "I don't want to end up fat", is another stab in my fat, ugly heart?

No. You don't give a fucking toss. It's all about you, isn't it? It's all about how you feel, what you want, the things you want to discuss, the way you think you can manipulate me into thinking your way, or worse, how you have no fucking clue how you make me feel, or how you remind me of how I feel. Because you only see you.

Fine, be proud of yourself for being so fucking perfect. Be proud of what you have acheived, but I don't want to fucking hear it. Your insecurities are mine too, you know. The difference is, I am not you. Woohoo for your fucking lovely body. Woohoo for your "caring concern". Woohoo for your perfect, ideal little fucking life. Woohoo for your self-discipline and hard work. Woohoo for your naturally fast metabolism and your lack of health issues. Woohoo for your ability to get out of the house without a panic attack and burning pain with every step.

Stick it up your ass. I am sick and tired of this fucking existence. When I pull you up on comments about strangers, you say, "I didn't mean you..." Yes, you bloody well did! When you slag them off, you are slagging me off. The only difference is that you do it behind their backs. But I know that what is good enough to do behind their backs, is good enough to do behind mine.

I can see your heart, you know. I can see the things that go through your mind. They are written on your face, and in your words and actions. I would rather never see you or speak to you ever again if you cannot just accept me the way that I am, and just see me as a person. Not a shape or size, just a person. And maybe have a little thought for what subjects we discuss.

Is that so hard? I guess it is.

How can I see the beauty of a smile, and the dancing eyes of a skinny man telling me his best joke, and think it is wonderful? How can I see the prettiness of the skin tone and the curve of a fat woman's arms as she hugs me?

Because I see it as simply their shell. It isn't them, it is just the shape they are manifested in physically. Yes, I know all about health, and taking care of our bodies, and all that bollocks. But a person is more than the sum of their poundage and the amount of their skin. When I die, as I hope I soon will, will you perhaps stumble across this self-indulged rant, and let it sink in? I just want it all to end. If it cannot end through you, then it must end another way.

I can put all of that aside, and see a person for themselves. I wish that I could see myself the way that I wish to be. I wish I could see myself as kind, happy, confident, sexy, empathetic and beautiful. But I can't. I wish that I could, but a lifetime of hearing people say one thing to my face, and another behind my back, or somebody else's, makes that impossible.

I tried. I really did try. But I cannot fight my own insecurities as well as fight against what I hear other people saying, whether in the street to my face, or about other people behind their backs.

Who do you think you are? Are you a dichotomy of happy friendliness on one hand, and slagging bitchiness on the other? Do you realise that your judgements of other people affect those around you? Are you so blind to your own words that you cannot tell if this rant is aimed at you or not?

I want to know people inside and out, and whilst I can ignore the physical side of a person, I cannot ignore the heart and spirit. And you, my little bitches, are fucking ugly.

This rant only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.