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? 


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. 


The girl that might get ink poisoning.

“Don’t write on yourself. You’re going to get ink poisoning.” 

I’ve been writing on myself since… Kindergarten (maybe?) and guess what. No gosh diddly darn ink poisoning. 

I like to draw, I always have. Something about having an imagine in my mind, then converting it onto my paper, or onto the back of my hand, makes me happy. I draw on myself pretty much every day, and I have pen marks still on my hand that didn’t come off in the shower. But I really want something on my skin that can’t just wash away like some forgotten dream. 

I think I’ve wanted a tattoo since I was about 10. Of course, I probably wanted a butterfly on my hand with purple wings and a pink body, but I think now I’ve settled on what I want and I want to share the reasons I want them. 

On my wrist, I’d like an infinity sign. Not the “YOLO” “I’m getting it because every one wants it” sort of thing, but for myself and my brothers to show that no matter what we’re infinite. (I kind of just had a flashback in my mind of the ending of The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Excuse that.)

On my feet on want (starting from the outside of my left foot, across the top of my foot above my toes) “Before you ask which way to go,” (on the top of my right foot just above my toes, going to the outer side) “remember where you’ve been.” It’s a song lyric from “Stay Awake” by All Time Low (my absolute favorite band). It really means a lot to me because I always seem to be lost. That may sound weird, but I feel lost or out of place or just totally in need of some direction some times. I try my hardest not to, but sometimes I just have to rely on someone to push me in the right direction and hope I don’t trip on a rock (or on a flat surface. I’m extremely clumsy.) 

I also want an anchor with a bow on the top of my right foot, or on my right ankle. I know that’s another thing that a lot of people get, but I like what it stands for (or at least what I want it to stand for). I want it to be a symbol for… home. A symbol for keeping me grounded and level-headed. A reminder of where I come from if I ever get too far from home, or if I get stuck in the clouds, I’ll have the anchor to pull me back down and secure me to the bottom of the ocean of love that I have here with my family. That sounds a little cheesier than intended, but it’s what makes me want that permanent symbol on my skin even more. 

Last, but not least, the tattoo I’d like to have if my future goes as planned, would be a paper airplane that would start flying from a tiny heart, and the loops would spell “FLY” in cursive. If I get to travel, whether it be with work or just to do it, I want this tattoo. This tattoo is kind of another tattoo that represents staying true to myself and to where I come from, but that’s what is important to me. The heart symbolizes my family (“Home is where the heart is”) and even if I (the paper plane) fly away, I’m always going to remember the starting point of my greatest adventure


So, yeah. I might get ink poisoning from marking my flesh with ink pens from now until the time a painted needle touches my body, or maybe I’ll get it after the first permanent piece is driven into my skin. At least then, all the people who told me I’d get it could say “I told you so.”