Something you want to fix about yourself?
This was what I wrote in my therapy journal today:
I grew up being called chubby, fat ass, cow hips, thunder thighs, cheeks, pudgy, four eyes, double chin, lazy eye, ugly, too big. When something is repeated to you enough times you start to believe it. It’s a part of our identification and fighting a repeated opinion someone gives you can be hard, even more so if you have a compromised mind, just like mine.
When I was in 2nd grade I sat next to a skinny girl with long dark hair. That was the day I started to suck my stomach in. I hid the chub that the kids on the playground talked about. No one teased this girl. I thought if I was skinny the other kids would be nice to me.
In 5th grade I had my first crush, but he didn’t date girls with big thighs and cow hips. Because I heard him moo with his friends in the hall when I walked by, I began to pick at my dinner until I was excused, I stopped eating my school lunches and breakfast.
7th grade. Boys called me thunder thighs and made a sumo wrestler stance when they joked about it.
My freshman year of high school, I went to school with dirty feet because I didn’t have time to take a shower that morning after walking in the dirt to let dogs out, I was running late so I ran to school with no mind that my feet were dirty. A girl laughed and made fun of me with her friends, so I went to the bathroom and wet paper towels to wash my feet in a stall. She walked in and started looking for my feet. “Is she taking a bath in the sink?!” I pulled my feet up and tried not to cry.
Or the first time someone commented on my stretch marks, I liked them at the time because they reminded me that I was loosing weight, “they are not beautiful, they are ugly.” It was one more thing on me that was imperfect and made me inadequate.
It felt a lot like when the chocolate bar in my back pocket warmed up and burst in my back pocket. Like when boys would call me a whore because they thought my chest was a symbol of people I slept with.
Sophomore year, I made friends with a small girl, this is when I stopped eating because I had been called the fat friend and told that I look good in pictures but face to face I am ugly. I only ate when someone prompted me too or when I needed to put on a good face. I went to prom that year and barfed in the bathroom because the salad I ate would make me bloat in my dress. I couldn’t look fat.
Junior year, I finally did it I was a size 3 if I sucked in a little bit. I ignored migraines and what felt like a dry ocean wave in my stomach. I ignored lunch time and breakfast. I drank water for dinner and if I had to eat I was in the bathroom puking it up after or waiting until I got to school the next morning hoping it would come up and that my body didn’t already absorb the fat. I met someone and he told me that I didn’t need to suck in, that I was beautiful. It took a few months but I began to gain weight. Size 7 jeans made me cry every time I put them on. I cried when I saw the pudge spill over my jeans or when my prom dress zipped but almost ripped at the seams. But I was told I was beautiful, so I tried to stuff it down. But the insults and the fat jokes came up like vomit.
I found out I was pregnant with Zane and although I was scared to be a mother so young, I was also scared that I was going to be unwanted because I was getting fat. But I sucked it up. I needed to get better for this baby. And I did. I ate, I snacked, I wore sweats and bought maternity pants. For the 1st time in my life I felt okay with my body. Beautiful, hell even sorta sexy. After Zane was born I realized old habits die hard. I ate a big meal and threw up afterwards. I blamed it on pain pills, but the truth is it was the roll at the bottom of my stomach that made me sick with myself so I shoved two fingers down my throat and hoped it would go away. I dropped 20+ lbs and found out another little baby was going to join us. I forced myself to eat and had a hard time for a few months but eventually I stopped seeing a fat person in the mirror and a pregnant mom. Eventually I loved my body again because I was pregnant and once again there was an excuse to get fat. I ate through breastfeeding Elijah and resisted wanting to throw up or pick at my food without taking bits and hopping no one would notice. He hit 11 months and I started to wean him. I haven’t forced myself to vomit but old habits are slipping in. I have gone without eating, I have noticed myself sucking in without thinking about it, I ignore the migraines and the stomach pains.
Here I am trying to get better but how can you when every time you look in the mirror you see a jean size, stretch mark, thighs that jiggle, arms that sag a little, a double chin, cheeks that are just to big. I could go on and on.
Hating myself is what I want to fix. I don’t want to see my thighs, face, or stomach and wish I was something else. I want to see myself and be happy.
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
janainaart
areudirty
dededos
