It's the way I cover my mouth when I eat because I don't want anyone to see my chubby cheeks or my double chin as I chew.
It's the way I try to take up as little space as possible at any given time.
It's the way my sister takes me to the store and tells me to pick out an outfit and doesn't understand that there's not a thing there that will fit me and the whole trip is embarrassing.
It's the way I can't eat fast at a restaurant because I dont want to appear ravenous, but I can't eat slow because they'll know it's intentional, a performance.
It's the way every compliment is backhanded, sugar-coated criticism. Or pity for the ugly girl, a bone to chew on so she doesnt fuss. "You're so beautiful! You just need to lose a bit of weight."
It's wearing black all my life because I was told it's slimming, and then being asked, as an adult, by the same people, why I never wear color.
It's not being able to eat anything, healthy or no, without a loved one passing judgement, weighing your decision like it's the most important one you'll make all day, all week, in your entire life.
It's loving my hair, because my hair is the only thing I have going for me.
It's people not understanding my small moments of self love, of owning my body, because they assume I'm being clueless. How could I possibly love this?
It's the split, manic moments where I pinch my thigh, my arm, my stomach, my fat, and sincerely consider cutting it off with scissors, or a knife, and letting the hospital stitch me up, after.
It's feeling like I'm wasting my life being fat, because a fat person can't be happy, loved, warm, content.
It's not being able to go on rides at the fair.
It's wanting to sleep, for a long, long time, because if I'm sleeping, I'm not eating, and if im not eating I'll lose weight.
It's feeling guilty about every single thing I put into my body.
It's the way I can't look at my reflection without feeling disgust.
It's the way this body betrays me every day.
