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I am a seven.
The jokes. They used to get the best of me. I would go days without eating, lie about how I was feeling, and stare at my tear-stained face in the mirror every night wondering what I was doing wrong. I used to care about what everyone thought of me.
I’d make excuses, saying I had a big breakfast and that’s why I wasn’t eating lunch. When dinner rolled around, I’d have too much homework to do and I’d always said I would eat later. I never did.
The magazines, the ads . . . they didn’t help much either. I tried so hard to be like the models I saw on TV. The celebrities with the perfect tan and clear complexion made me want to shoot myself.
For a while, I had to take my mirror off my door because I couldn’t stand the sight of my own face. I didn’t want the jokes and things you snickered when I walked by to be true, but hearing more and more of them every day made them true to me.
I used to be deathly afraid to go shopping with anyone, afraid of what they might say if i went to the bigger sections of clothing to look. Now? I have no problem.
“You don’t need to be eating that.”
“Jeez, got enough food on your plate?”
Those kind of comments slowly broke me down. Each one etching its way into my head, trying to turn me into the prefect girl, with the perfect everything.
But no one’s perfect. Everyone has their flaws. My weigh just happens to be mine. Sure, I have to deal with the way my body looks, and at times, I get very frustrated with it; but that's what makes me, me. My body.
The other day I told you the truth when I said I was happy with my body. That I don’t need to try to fix myself. I have people that love me just the way I am, and nothing you say is going to change the way I view myself, ever again.
“That’s just something fat people say.”
No. No, it’s not.
I’m 18. I’m 5’ 6’’. I weigh 129 pounds.
I am a size seven and damn proud of it.
***Marilyn Monroe, one of the most beautiful women in history, was a size 14. Remember that when you think you’re not beautiful. It’s society that’s the ugly one.***