Fat… Fat…. Fat.

I don’t remember ever not being fat. I have always been the big kid. I never got to shop at the “cool” stores and I used to cry when my friends would ask me to go shopping with them. I knew they would never want to go into the stores I had to. I remember shopping with my mom and grandma… I was trying on the same clothes as my mom and could easily just wear something out of her closet when I was just a kid. I remember how it broke my heart that I would never fit in (pun intended) and I would never be able to wear the “cool kid” clothes instead I’d have to wear clothes that looked like my mom should wear them.

I remember getting depressed over how I looked and you know what I did? I went to the kitchen to find something to fill the void. I would eat to bury the pain in my chest. I would eat to give me something to do instead of going out to play with friends. I never lived close to any of my school friends and the neighborhood friends, never really accepted me. It was hard to go play with them because I would run out of breath or get tired quicker than they did. I remember playing basketball and not being able to keep up so I was never very good. I remember feeling like I let every one down when I didn’t make the shot and I remember feeling like a fatass when I ran out of breath running up and down the court.

I remember one time in middle school… I was standing in the pizza line (go figure!) and all the cool kids had been doing this little clap cheer. My friends and I were making fun of it and this kid in the line looked at his buddy and said “Oh look! Catoosa now sponsors fat cheerleaders.” I remember how I cried when I left school that day. I knew everyone thought the same things when they saw me in the hallway and even a few of them announced it. I knew that and I never let them live it down.

I always thought about trying to lose weight. I remember going on my first diet. I was in 8th grade. It lasted a couple of weeks and I lost a few pounds. Nobody noticed though and my clothes didn’t fit any looser so I gave up. I gradually slipped back into my bad eating habits. Mom didn’t cook very often so it was easier to stop for fast food on the way home. Dad liked to drink too much pop and eat sweets so it was always in the house. Little brother was a bean pole so Mom bought him sugary sweets which were right in the cabinet for my taking.

You are probably thinking that I’m trying to blame my parents for my eating disorder, but you’re wrong. I don’t blame them. I don’t blame anybody but myself. It was my choice to stuff that twinkie in my mouth, it was my choice to ask for more, it was my choice to eat ice cream late at night. I blame them for not stopping me. I blame them for not forcing me to eat better or less. I blame them for keeping it around when they knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t say no. I blame me for eating it, them for providing it.

I will be continuing to account for my weight gain over the next few months. It took me years to weigh what I weigh now and I know it will take some time to lose the weight that I want to. My goal to lose is huge (kind of like me), but I am determined and more now than ever.

Goodbye soda.
Goodbye sweets.
Goodbye fast food.
Goodbye ice cream.
Goodbye second helpings.
But most importantly:
Goodbye fat girl.
Goodbye insecurity.

Hello NEW ME!

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