I’m going to do this in English. Not Swedish, my native language. It’s always been easier for me to express myself in English. No idea why.
I was a chubby baby, a round child, and a fat girl.
I love food. I really, really, love food.
All my skinny friends are obsessed with thinking that they’re fat. I just want to punch them in the face, and scream to them that, “This is what fat is!! When you feel trapped inside your own body, unable to take care of the fucking situation. For fuck’s sake, get a grip!”. But I never do. I just reassure them that they’re not fat. That’s all they want anyway. They only want to know that they’re not the one with issues.
They have no idea what fat is. When you can’t fit into anything, when everything is just too tight. When I was younger I absolutely despised shopping for clothes. Only went with my mom, because she understood. She never brought me jeans in the sizes that it would be an absolute impossibility for me to fit into, or the ones that were too big that made me think everyone saw me as huge. Always made me feel normal.
Now, I don’t want to be skinny. Not even thin. I love my curves; I just think that they are too exaggerated. I want a defined waist, I want decently sized boobs, and I want hips. But not to the degree that I have.
I don’t hate myself. I don’t hate my body. I love the young woman I’ve become over the years, and I have found a balance that wasn’t in my life before. I have a good relationship with my parents, and a lot of friends that I love and that I feel loved when I’m around.
I’ve been through my goth period, dressing solely in black. I’ve had the worst of my tantrums (I hope). I have been through the normal teenager hating-my-body. One thing that I’ve never been through is the feeling of hating and despising yourself enough to want to die. And I truly hope that I never do. There’s always been too much good, even though I’m fat.
If I see a video of myself in a bikini, I don’t start crying hysterically. I look at myself, and I see good things. Like how I am fully proportionate. Or how I sometimes give of a certain glow, when I laugh. Sure, I may suck in my stomach a bit when I feel self conscious, but I’m not ashamed.
There are other things about my physical appearance that I’m ashamed of. Like my skin. I have the ordinary teenage acne. Except I get it a lot worse than any one else. Which has caused me to wear makeup every day, even if I am just hanging out at home. Because I hate it when other people can see the redness, and the splotches, and see how I couldn’t help but touch the pimples and have made them a lot worse.
If I could choose between losing weight and getting clear skin, no doubt would I pick the weight loss. It’s something that has bothered me all my life.
As of lately, my mother has become a bit obsessed with exercising, to build endurance and strength. Since she’s gotten in to fitness, she has started commenting on how certain foods are very fat, foods that I enjoy. That makes me feel like I’m a big fat person, just stuffing her face. I’ve been planning on talking to her, but I’m scared of hurting my feelings, even though she hurts mine constantly with that behavior. My dad has tried to diet, and so has my brother. And my parents have both started hinting on the fact that they think I need to stop eating as much as I do.
But as I write this text I realize a couple of things. Like, how I am motivated to actually do something to get rid of a few pounds. And how much I appreciate my family.
From tomorrow, I’m going to try. Really, try. I’m not going to start dieting like crazy, starving myself or only eating whole foods. I’m going to start out slowly. Go on the hour long bike rides I used to before I got tired of them. Eat half the portions I normally do. Not snack as much. Make sure that I have fruit or other good things around the house, if I get hungry.
Just try. That’s all I can do for now. Try.
