As Told By

Chapter one?

I was skinny once, you know? Back when people didn't glorify the curvy. When people told me that because I had hips and boobs and an ass that I was over weight.   Maybe because 5th grade was a little too early to have those things or that having breast larger than your 16 year old cousin was abnormal, but I believed I had a problem. The issue was that I wasn't small enough to fit the standard size kid. I didn't have the body of a preteen but one of a young adult.  I wasn't sure what to think back then. I went to war in my head thinking things like, "you need to stop eating" and, "but I don't feel fat?." As if being that age isn't hard enough, add a weight battle to it. You might as well have brain washed me and said don't worry you'll never be good enough, just don't try. Instead of playing with my friends outside and being free I was confined to this cage of am I running around enough and, you think they'll notice? I'm not sure what it was like for everyone else in the world but I wanted to be older not so I could have a car or a beautiful mansion but so I could get surgery to remove all the extra stuff off of my already fragile body. I tried it all I think... The exercises and the diets and trying not to eat all (I was really bad at that one thankfully). I guess it is part of who I am today or is it the whole thing?  I feel like it took over my life, like the battle manifested into a larger more, mind distorted image of myself that then controlled my every action.  I was lost. How could I ever find my way back to the time when I didn't take someone looking at me as an insult, like I know I'm big but I'm working on it. It never gets easier and everything you do is either a mistake or just plain stupid. You can't believe that you let yourself go to that place of obsession with something that you weren't. 

I didn't realize how wrong I was for that until I actually was 60+ lbs over weight and I looked back at an old photo and glared in complete anger at the fact that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me then. Just the thought of young me looking at me now made me want to scream. Why didn't anyone notice? Why didn't anything work? Genetics? I was just that terrible at life? Who knows. All I know is that it was not a child hood, and I can blame it on anyone I want but when it comes down to it... it was all me. Sometimes people are born with a problem and it just takes someone/thing to pull the trigger to set off the never ending race. Sometimes you just can't help but wanting to kill yourself or wanting a new life or maybe you have rage issues and you can't help but want to hurt everyone around you because you don't know how to hold yourself accountable yet. Know one knows why. Except for science. .. science knows. 

When you finally do learn to become more self aware then you notice things you haven't before, like the fact that every time I eat something I'm putting more stuff in my system that will only make me gain weight but why can't I stop it. Then you start thinking things like the only way to stop this is to not be here anymore.  Then you go... wait a second there ... you know it's wrong and selfish of you to think that but... Why can't you stop it? Who knows right?  Oh ya science.

When you get to the point of no return and you realize that all of your efforts and strength has been poured into your obsession with pounds you just get damn tired and you give up. But not completely because you know if you die that your mom will be sad and mad at the same time and your family will miss you every once in a while and no one will understand who is to blame, not even you. So I stayed here and there trying not to care but probably still caring to much about everything and nothing at all.

What is the point? How about everyone else? How can I be so narcissistic? Did you know that I am a hypochondriac? ... or is that the hypochondriac in me speaking?Who knows?

Science!  The truth of the matter is is there is no truth in anything that I do or feel or think that I am. There is no point. There is no need for anything.  So I sit here making every grammatical error I know and telling you things no one should really know except but me because I am extremely sad and sorry and afraid at the same time.  Because I am me. Because of judgment.  But mainly because being me is harder than it looks and being you is hard to. So who gave you the right to look at me and tell me who I am supposed to be?