Growing up,I was never

Growing up,

I was never very concerned with my body,

I looked like everyone else,

So I thought:

Average, 

I am plain average…

Until I heard my first: “I think you’ve had enough”

“Don’t you want to lose some weight?”, “You shouldn’t be eating that”, “wearing that” and “I can see your fat”

And soon words turn into fingers jabbing at it…

One of my biggest crushes in middle school used to send me workout videos, and I thought they’d be the only way he’d like me.

I’m trying to understand why I should be ashamed of the way I look,

while I become more and more self conscious.

I become conscious of how my belly jiggles when I walk,

Or maybe my arms wiggle too much,

Or how the skin of my inner thighs touches when I run,

Or maybe I’m just making this up,

It’s not even there, but I am still told it is, and I see myself through filter.

I’m trying to justify what other people see,

And in a split second their vision becomes me.

I cannot walk by a mirror without pointing out my flaws,

Competing with myself to beat my record of how many I can find,

Stabbing my own fingers at my fat,

Grabbing it and wishing it wasn’t there.

That’s why I hate shopping,

Or why I tell my friends I think bathing suits look better, when they ask me why I don’t wear bikinis anymore.

Really, I wish I could just cover my whole body.

And then I stop and think of what has led me to look like that,

And I’m embarrassed, because I couldn’t resist food when I was hungry,

And I’m ashamed that I cannot starve myself,

And that I’m too scared to stick my fingers down my throat and throw up that meal of regret.