Gather 'round, kids! A rant guaranteed to piss you off. (Warning: Long) I wasn't a proper shitlady until I developed an eating disorder. Classified as Anorexia Nervosa, type 2 (binge/purge subtype). In the midst of my disorder, I began to really despise fat people, more so than before, because they were walking, talking examples of lack of control. My control, through my intake, was what I took pride in. In fact, it was the only thing, really. There were multiple times in which I almost died for that sake.  Anywho, this is not what this story is about, but just a little bit of background. This story revolves around my ham ex-sister-in-law, the "person" who opened my eyes as to how many hams claim to have eating disorders. While I was convulsing in a hospital cot from a diet pill overdose mixed with dehydration, they were whining for sympathy over eating only one cheeseburger. While I would wander around the grocery store aimlessly while trying to blend in with food, to not be noticed, they were barking about how little they ate to anyone who would listen. While I stood at 5'1 and 74 pounds and asking myself if I would really qualify for an eating disorder, they would self-diagnose. I didn't know that hams did this. It was too stupid and idiotic for my brain to comprehend. But they are out there. And my ex-sister-in-law (who we will call Hamela) is the epitome of it. Sometimes, I would get really dizzy and my legs would collapse from underneath me. I wouldn't exactly pass out, but it feels like all the blood is rushing to my feet and I just... crumple on the ground. This would usually happen around my third or fourth day of coffee/water fasting. Once, it happened in front of Hamela, who came to my house uninvited with two friends of hers.  "Oh, Chronicallydieting, you know, I was anorexic. I know how it feels." She would say, and then spout long, obviously fabricated tales of her anorexic days while her friends cooed and comforted her. She'd often burst through my front door with her friends, uninvited, and bother me to "touch her bones". She would brag about not eating, get people to feel sorry for her, and then turn to me with a remark along the lines of, "You should stop before you develop a real eating disorder like me." A year later, after almost dying from my eating disorder, I was hospitalized and then sent to a facility within my province which supposedly had a fantastic eating disorders program. It was a long way from home, though. I came back at 105 pounds at 5'1, a whole 3 months later. Though I was supposed to be "cured", I did not feel that way. My body was no longer anorexic, but my mind was. Being thin and small and perfect was what I was supposed to be, it was who I was, and by forcing me to gain that weight against my will felt like they took away a huge part of my identity. I was bursting out of my own clothes. I would look into the mirror and not recognize myself. I felt like a monster.  Her first words after seeing the "new" me? "See, Chronicallydieting? I knew you weren't that bad. I bet if I went to that facility, they'd kick me out for not co-operating, haha! I mean, I haven't even eaten in a couple days. Can you see the weight loss?" Nearly brought me to tears. And no, she didn't lose any weight. Yet, my disordered mind was scared to death that one day she would be thinner than me. Now, I realize how ridiculous and sick those thoughts were. But that's not all, kiddos. You know how we constantly complain about hams being lazy and demanding that everything be handed to them? Hamela hasn't had a job in years. Not since she became pregnant, a whole six years ago. She lives off her welfare check and whatever money her baby-daddy gives her. She constantly brags about how she lies to welfare, telling them that she is a single mother, to get more money out of them. And yes, baby-daddy has a very good job that pays around $28/hour. She even lives in welfare housing in which she only has to pay $225/month in rent. About a month ago, I visited her house (not by choice, I was tagging along with some others) and she was chirping in a sing-song voice in the teasing tune you'd hear on a playground, "I'm gonna go on dis-a-bil-ity! I'm gonna go on dis-a-bil-ity!" And yes, she was still claiming to have an eating disorder. And she is fatter than ever. "I just live off coffee nowadays," she whined as she served herself a giant slab of lasagna, "I don't even want to eat this... ugh." And then, she shoved that greasy, cheesy goodness into her disgusting maw. In fact, the year before this, she signed up to get herself sponsored by the Salvation Army (a huge charity company). Out of probably 200 other poor, single mothers- guess who won the sponsorship? Guess who got $600 worth of groceries and Christmas presents for her and her child delivered directly to her doorstep?  Yep, Hamela. I watched as she tore open her presents, complaining that they weren't good enough for her. She opened up a pair of fuzzy white slippers and sneered, "Ugh! These are like, Wal-Mart quality. Why would these people give away garbage like this? Is this supposed to be a present? Oh well, I guess I can just re-gift it to the bitch next door." She was completely deaf to my remarks that she didn't need the presents. She had more than enough money to make a good Christmas. She literally took away Christmas for a mother and her child that actually needed it. Her response? "But I have a child!" Yes, she felt completely entitled to these things. There wasn't a hint of remorse anywhere.  As Christmas drew nearer that year, I decided to make a bunch of baking. You may not know this, but many sufferers of eating disorders are fantastic chefs and bakers. I discovered this passion while I was sick, and I could probably whip up anything that you wanted.  I had been baking for three straight days- chocolate chip cookies, chocolate coconut macaroons, candy cane bark, butter tarts, mini apple pies, the works. I was actually in the middle of whipping up more when Hamela came through my front door and said, "I just decided that I'm going to do all the baking this year. I wouldn't want everyone to be dissapointed. I can make it better, so... You can just go ahead and throw all of this out." Last time I saw her, while she was chirping about going on disability, she was also bragging about running and unlicensed daycare. I reported her. Actually, this is the second time that I've reported her to welfare and yet nothing has been done. I am fuming. If I had a phone at the moment, I'd call them directly. In my province, all reports of welfare fraud are through their website. I am on the verge of reporting her a third time, but at this point I'm not sure if anything will be done.  I fucking hate self-centered, demanding fat fucks.