Speaking Out: I’m Not Thin, My Body is Decaying

For years, I tried every diet and exercise, trying to shrink my body. I finally reached a point where I realized I was going to have to embrace body positivity and throw off the shackles of body shaming in the queer community and world at large. But then I got hit by an ice cream truck and reanimated. Now I’m a zombie and so so so tiny!


When my friends see me, they can’t believe how different I look. “Oh my god, you’ve changed! Help! AGHHHH,” they squeal, meaning to compliment me. But it doesn’t feel like a compliment when I know it’s not a special diet or exercise keeping me thin, it’s that my organs are rotting inside my flesh suit. Preservation is not part of the dark magic that Lord Larius The Heinous used to reanimate me, and I just have to not​live with that.


When I’m shuffling after a victim, I can’t help but think about all the things I put off because I didn’t feel skinny enough: salsa dancing, eating dessert in public, finding love! But I can’t celebrate my new frame, because as a skeletal figure with the pounds literally falling off (16 ounces of my thigh once fell off and crushed a chipmunk), I still can’t do those things because I’m a fucking zombie. At least I can wear a bikini without worrying. Except my arms are too stiff to put a bikini on and if my fetid corpse touches water, I’ll bloat up and explode. Maybe a tankini!


I just want people to stop saying “That very thin and chic zombie is about to kill me!” I’m not a gymaholic, just an average member of the undead whose metabolic functions have ceased. I no longer want to be noticed because of how my tattered and bloodstained clothes fit, but for how well I follow the bidding of my Lord Larius. Even he claims to be jealous I can squeeze into the clothes of a child I just consumed while he’s just “Lord Larius The Hungry – for power and for chips!” I have to laugh because he’s my boss.


All I’ll ever be is a resurrected carcass that’s more vulture snack than thinspo (man, do these vultures love my decayed skin flaps) and I don’t need anyone to remind me of that. So think twice next time you see a reanimated body about to snatch you up wand you want to comment on their snatched waist.

Body & Self-Care, Opinion, Thriving