Page 10

I was never skinny, skinny. Never skinny enough for a thigh gap or to fit in an XS, not even a size 0, but I was always average. 


Honestly my most healthy relationship has always been between my body and me. I never hated it, I never wanted it to be different, I just wanted it to keep me alive.


Though now, with extreme remorse, I hate to say that things have changed.


It’s funny how your brain changes when you gain weight. All of a sudden you can’t stop thinking about anything else other than losing weight. You don’t even have to have goals to weigh less than you did before, you just know you need to lose weight. 


Regardless, it becomes exhausting because it becomes a constant way of thinking. 


Every day I wake up and wonder if my stomach is flatter. I lift my shirt up and go from facing left, to right, to forward; even sometimes facing backwards and taking a photo to look at. I debate whether I’m hungry or not, and then convince myself that skipping breakfast would be bad because of the reasoning, but I end up eating breakfast with guilt. I dictate what I wear based around my morning meal. If I hadn’t eaten breakfast, I’d wear something tighter that day, but since I did, I’ll wear something loose. I’ll walk around my room with my palms at my hips to see where my fat is most prominent. I’ll walk to school wondering how many calories I’m burning and if I would’ve burned more if I had walked faster. As I sit down in my classes I wonder if my fat is more prominent than before. Can they see it on my back? Can they see it from my sides? How much do they see? I walk home, always a little faster than in the morning. I make dinner while simultaneously trying to convince myself that it should be my last meal of the day. Who cares if it’s 4 or 5 in the afternoon, I’ve had 2 meals already, that should be enough right?


It's always there. 


No selfie can be taken without comparing my current face to how it used to be. My nightly routine has added the step where I pull the skin on my jawline down to my neck in order to compare how big my cheeks have gotten. Fond memories captured have become just another picture where I was “skinnier”. Every meal is a reminder to why I’ve gained weight, and to why I’m not losing it. 


It’s inescapable.


I get it though, I know it’s normal, I know I’m fine. I’m 21, I’m a woman, my body is everchanging. Gaining weight is a natural reaction of my hormones and my environment, but if I’m being honest, I hate it. I hate the way my body looks. I hate that I’m the only one that knows how it used to feel, how it’s “supposed” to feel, because then I’m the only one that misses it.


It's uncomfortable, and sad, and a little pathetic. It shouldn’t matter this much to me, but it does. That alone is embarrassing, but I can’t just ship off this feeling, it’s stuck, and worst of all its stuck on me. I feel fraudulent all the time. Pretending like I don’t care while sneaking looks at my friends’ flatter stomachs. I just want myself back. 


I have hopes I’ll stop grieving the body I once had, but who knows… for now I’ll continue to leave the clothes I’m afraid to confront for another day.