SOS: Society's Freedom of Speech

I have to admit, I get angry sometimes when people who don’t know about eating disorders say ignorant things or do stupid actions. To a perfectly unbiased human, these words and these actions would come across as meaningless. But for those people who have some tie to eating disorders, whether it be family, friends, doctors, or the sufferers themselves, it becomes a big issue really fast.

A couple of months ago, when I was talking to my aunt (who knows that my brother has an eating disorder yet she doesn’t truly believe it), she was saying how she needed to go on the latest diet and lose weight. For any other person, this would be considered as “normal” girl-talk. But for me, it’s an off-limit topic. First of all, to be clear, she doesn’t need to lose weight. But secondly, she knows how sensitive I am about food, clothes, weight, and exercising. She shouldn’t have even brought up the conversation. But what really got me angry was when she blatantly said, “I wish that I had an eating disorder for a couple of weeks so that I could lose weight.” Really?? I didn’t know if she was making a joke or being serious. At first, I didn’t even believe that those words actually came out of her mouth! I didn’t know how to respond. Yes, of course I was angry, but more than anything at that moment, I was stunned.

Another recent shocking experience was a couple of days ago at the grocery store. I had finished shopping and was getting into my car when a woman entered the store. Now, this action alone isn’t very meaningful. We, meaning people in general, barely pay attention to the other people at a store, almost shopping absent-mindedly, as if we were in a daze. We don’t consciously see or think of the other people shopping as real people; we see them as roadblocks. The action of shopping is so second-nature that we’re able to think of a million other things while we shop. The same thing is true of driving. A really experienced driver can talk on the phone, change the radio station, and break up a childish fight occurring in the back seat, all while weaving in and out of freeway lanes and other cars.

Anyway, I’m drifting from the point. The point I want to make is that we usually don’t notice the other people around us unless there’s a reason to notice them. The day that I was leaving the grocery store, there was a reason why I paid attention to the woman entering the store. She was wearing a shirt that had an offensive slogan. Her shirt said, “Fear the Fork.”

To a regular person, the shirt would elicit a few strange sideways glances, but nothing more. To me, on the other hand, the shirt meant something. Maybe the woman was trying to make a statement. She was allowed to make that statement. After all, we live in America, where freedom of speech and of the press is one of our core founding laws. People have publicized and advertised their opinions nowadays so much so that the people have become walking billboards. We’re just a mass of “likes” and brands, what type of car we drive, what college we went to, etcetera, etcetera. We become identified by those things, having them dictate who we are and what we believe in. We are defined by those things.

I continually agree with and disagree with the quote “actions speak louder than words.” In the case of the grocery store lady, she didn’t have to say anything in order for me to hear her. She didn’t have to say anything in order for me to understand her. That shirt meant something to me. It symbolized and represented years of society’s beliefs. In this one instance, the woman to me was society. She was everything that I had tried to distance myself from all these years. She was everything that I had run away from. She was everything that I’ve been fighting against.

A simple shirt can be worth more than a thousand words. A simple shirt can speak a thousand words. It tells a story that doesn’t have an ending…yet.

You should be able to infer that this shirt hurt me. It not only hurt me, though; it touched me deeply. This shirt’s message has stayed with me. There’s a story behind that shirt. There’s a story behind that woman. I have a lot of guesses as to the character of this woman and what she thinks. Though, as much as I was hurt by her, I’d like to meet her and talk with her. It’s the curiosity in me.

When I first started writing this article, I thought there would be a point to it. I now realize there might not be a point. That’s how life sometimes is. There’s not always a point to be made. There might not have been a point to the shirt I saw. The woman might not have been trying to make a point. I doubt it, but those are my thoughts. We are what we write. We are what we wear.