Fat girl.

I’m fat

I’m overweight

I’m obese.

I’m too young to feel this terrible about my body. I’m too confident to be so insecure about my appearance. I’m too strong to cry over a few mean words. Right? 

Wrong.  

Out of my group of friends, I’m the confident, not awkward one that always has to ask the teacher if we can write on this or the one they send to the counter to get more ketchup. I’m the one that’s always happy, the one that’s never been depressed, the one that has to cheer them up when they feel insecure. But truth is, I’m not happy

I hate when, at school or when I’m with my friends, I say something about me looking huge in what I’m wearing or when my flat stomached friends say that they’re fat and I disagree with them, pointing out my fatness and they say “No, you’re not fat. You’re just big boned” or when I tell them what I weigh and they say “That’s just because you’re tall.” Well, I am big boned and taller than all of them, both genes of which run in my family, both genes of which I really freaking hate. Big bones make me look larger when covered in layers and layers of my dreaded fat. My tallness, even though I love being tall, stretches my skin which is being weighed down by my fat, leaving me with stretch marks. No, I haven’t been pregnant, I’m a just fat teenager with stretch marks. It’s so embarrassing when my shirt comes up a little and my little cousin asks “Who scratched you up so bad?” “Uhm, the cat.” 

Looking at myself in the mirror, in the reflection of a car door’s window, or in a photograph where I look so happy, I get so upset. 

Why am I so big? 

Why is my metabolism so slow? 

Why am I so lazy? 

Why do I insist on eating when I know I probably shouldn’t? 

Why the hell didn’t I do something about it sooner? 

I constantly blame myself and sometimes I blame my family for my weight. I didn’t grow up in a house full of healthy, fit people. No one in my house is at or even around a standard weight. I’m about 100 pounds over what I should weigh. My brothers are probably 100 or so pounds over. Both of my parents are even farther up than that. But it’s not their fault I’m so big. It’s mine

I’m overweight.

I don’t want to be. 

I’m going to change

I’m going to work out more.

I’m going to eat healthier and hopefully reach my goal of becoming a total vegetarian. 

I’m going to feel better about myself. 

 

But I need motivation. 

If you’ve gotten this far down in my little rant, please leave me some advice or support in the comments. I would really appreciate it so so much. 

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