Disproportionate at every angle, my figure is shaped like that of a pear’s. Any claims to beauty seem to be rare, because I can hardly stand the sight of my body bare. My stomach, no matter how hollow it feels, the emptiness is nowhere near as real as the choked up words in my throat, hoping to puke up the ignorance of last night. My legs burn not because of my miles by foot but by the distance of thinness in sight. I’ve tried running. Running to lose, running away from the extra pounds that still seem to astound many as I admit my worth in pounds. I’ve tried eating less. Less words of criticism that seem to digest in my mind, because just like the food I have at home, it’s accessible and quick to find. I’ve even tried to starve. Starve the temptation by depriving my body the right to feeling whole. Puking never proved its worth either, but I loved the feeling of feeling empty and hollow. I never wished again to swallow down the words of the self-indulging. I feel ugly because I’m fat, or pertaining to the definition, anything but three inches thin and it is that reason that I seem to find myself throwing up everything I have within. I no longer wish to see the thunder in my thighs, they don’t belong in my legs, they belong in the skies. I wish not to feel my stomach jut out of its place because of the disgrace and the disgust I have to face. No, this has nothing to do with self-loathing, this is just the story of a disproportionate girl unloading. A girl told by the media that she’ll never be able to be beautiful because her figure is not distorted enough and that where beauty needs to be smooth, her exterior is too rough. I can’t seem to remember happier times when my body didn’t feel stretched out of its comfort zone, feeling so helpless and alone. I can’t even comfort myself knowing that the demeaning words that accompany someone of my body type are shaped like bullets and are aimed at me to kill. This is not the type of action movie thrill. I am not happy with myself, I hate myself more knowing that I’ll never be good enough in anyone’s eyes. And with that, I’ll end this while the hunger makes my belly cry.
Diary of 135 lbs.
November 23, 2011