The first time I remember being disgusted with myself was when I was seven years old. I was very well familiarized with my motherâs repulsion of fat/overweight people of any kind.
As she was walking past me, I pulled up my shirt, exposing my tummy, while sucking in so hard so my ribs were protruding. I exclaimed,
âMama, look! Look, how skinny Iâm getting!â I was grinning, panting, trying to keep my stomach sucked in, optimistically awaiting her approval.
  She paused only briefly, looking down at my exposed stomach before pinching an inch of fat between her fingers and answering,
âBut this.,â pinching harder,
âthis is what needs to go.â
Then she walked away, while I silently cried and swore to starve until I could please her. This pattern continued and escalated for the next 14 years.
  I was never slim, or skinny, as a child. There are pictures to prove that, which Iâm sure internet trolls will eventually excavate. Aside from the constant, and continual bullying I endured during elementary, middle, and high school concerning my weight and appearance, I also suffered the same torture in my own home.
  I hate to mark myself as a martyr, but the pain and misery I sustained before the age of 13 supersedes what most humans experience in a lifetime. I honestly donât really care if any of you believe me. Aside from growing up in a home with both parents unable of remaining sober, or acting as parents should, I lived everyday, watching my sister slowly die. An agonizing, prolonged, tortuous death. And I stood there, a child, incapable of helping her. I was in the room the night her soul left her little scarred body. I live with the guilt of not being able to save her every single day.
  I wonât ramble on, but I think Iâm getting towards my point. The pain didnât end after my sisterâs demise. If anything, in some ways, it worsened. I attempted to overcompensate for the fact that my mother had lost her daughter, by being the best I could be at everything. Best grades at school, won every poetry contest, anything, to make her love me, to make up for the fact that she was left with me, not her precious child. But I couldnât compete with an angel.
  I was raised, and trained to hate myself. Every day, I was reminded of how grotesque I was. How I wasnât pretty enough, wasnât skinny enough, my hair wasnât long enough, my skin, glasses, braces.. I was not good enough, for anything. I was not worthy of anything, including my own motherâs acceptance, and love. I wasnât worthy of living. Not after long, I couldnât look at myself in the mirror, because every time I did, I would cry.
  So, like many young girls dealing with similar issues, I ate. More, and more. And then I would hate myself again, and starve, but never for long. I didnât have the will power to covet anorexia. So I was always big, or bigger. I always had big thighs, a big ass, I was always just big. And I always just hated myself. Thatâs the way it was.
  But I aged, grew up, got the fuck out of that house, and with the help of my own music, i gained the amount of confidence it took to see myself as I really was. My path to self-confidence and self-love was long, and it continues on daily. When I first started gaining clout, I would edit my photos to make my butt look smaller, my thighs slimmer, because my old, brainwashed way of thinking still remained. To this day, I still sometimes look in the mirror expecting to see a monster...
  Recently, I have felt that I have come the closest to loving myself fully and completely, exactly as I am. Which is what prompted my Instagram post and caption. (see post below)
This was also one of the main reasons I left this label. Because they couldnât accept me as I was, and were constantly trying to make me into someone I wasnât.
  I have come out and said publicly, I used to edit my photos to make myself look slimmer, because the pressure from my label and social media forced me to believe that I still wasnât good enough. And now, I am strong enough to stand up and say, fuck everyone. This is my body. My thighs still donât fit into AG jeans. I will never be the thin, model-type my mother always wanted of me. I donât fit the mold, and I donât believe I ever will.
All I can do is say my truth.
But it will never be enough for those who revel in evil, and hatred, and depravity.
Those who trained me to hate myself back when I was just a childâŠthey still exist, and they will remain.
But we can be stronger, we can prevail.
Love exactly who you are..because you are all you have.
gracieabrams
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prguitarman
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