Skin

personal essay by Anonymous

Trigger warnings: language & self-image

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The desire to feel pretty was stronger than the aches I felt in my body. I was starving for

any validation, good or bad. Every pound my body held there was a new comment, someone's

opinion about the way my bones stand. Maybe not the bones themself, but the layers that held

them. Friends told me to get in their photos so they could look good. Girls told me to lose fifty

pounds before I wore another crop top. I would scroll through the comments on my post for

hours. Even my own mother recommended we work out together. No matter what I wore, or

how I did my hair or makeup, people never saw past my weight. What could be so wrong with

what the scale says? And why did people feel their opinion needed to be heard that often? They

seemed so upset that I existed. Like my body alone ruined their day. What really angered them,

even more, is when I lost it all.

I can't say exactly how everything happened. Maybe it was all the stress eating

and lack of exercise. But I managed to gain sixty pounds before sophomore year. Everyone had

everything to say all the time. As if my mirrors didn’t give me a clear enough view. Wearing

anything sparked up the “I love your confidence” compliment. I couldn’t understand how

people could be that mean. If I had a dime for every mean name or whale joke I'd have my own

car. It was hard gaining the weight as is, having people point it out daily made life almost

impossible.I felt like I was suffocating on people’s hate. I just wanted people to notice me, not

my weight. I desperately wanted the attention other girls got. Not just the attention but how they

looked. They never got told how their “realistic body type” made other girls feel better. They

never had a guy fat-shame you in front of the whole class. I doubt they see the whale emoji in

their comments daily. But I did, and it felt so unfair. It's more than all the jealousy and

insecurity I just wanted to live. I wanted to go a day without hearing about my weight. I wanted

to be called pretty and feel confident in the skin that covered me.

I guess you can say I don't take rejection well. When I planned my summer I imagined

Starbucks refreshers, movie dates, and late night bike rides. I didn’t imagine spending it trying

to tear off pounds of fat and insecurity. I drained every last amount of energy out of me trying to

lose the weight. I just wanted people to like me. I wanted me to like me. I couldn't understand

why I hated the body that supported me so well. All my body wanted was to be loved while I

wanted to change it. It didn’t understand what it did wrong other than it existed. I treated it as

people treated me. Abused and constantly judged. I peeled off twenty pounds of fat like it

meant nothing. I checked my weight almost nightly and every time I would have to close my eyes

and count before looking at it. It's funny how little credit I gave myself. It was a pathetic

attempt to push myself to lose more weight. Suddenly food made me sick, and one meal a day

became too fattening. I never knew to count calories until that summer. I learned how to diet

and when to eat and how to go a day without eating. I learned how to work out on an empty

stomach and pretend like I wasn't getting dizzy at practice.

When school started, I thought I had changed enough for people to notice. I prayed I

turned water into wine and people would find me beautiful. When I noticed people still saw me

the same, it made me feel like that fat girl again. I heard what friends would say about me when

they thought no one would tell me. One girl called me a “fat c--” and another told me I needed

to lose another 30 pounds. The things people say when they think no one can hear are cruel. But

there are ears everywhere. Every corner and hallway someone will hear you, and your words will

get back to them. I bought clothes in sizes too small as a way to push me. Almost as if I didn’t

deserve clothes to fit me. If everyone else called me names and made me feel little, who was I to

say that I'm not?

Maybe I did let things get to me easily. I had already dyed my hair black and changed my

style again. I did everything I could for people to like me. I had chased out every aspect of

individuality in me. I layed in bed hungry at night, my stomach growling for attention. I wanted

someone to hear me. I wished someone would have noticed and helped. But I was finally getting

the attention I wanted. Boys who never used to even look at me now stare. I had a popular guy

coming back asking for another chance. The b-- who fat shamed me was now twice my weight.

I could go into dressing rooms and not cry. I could post in a crop top and not delete it because of

comments. But the fat never left my head. I still see my body the same most days. I started at

one hundred and ninety pounds and now way one hundred and fifty. That's over forty pounds!

And yet I still couldn't feel it. Yes, I have more energy and I feel lighter. I can acknowledge how

much I've changed and I can see it sometimes. But I still flip the mirrors around and hide behind

baggy clothes. I shame the girl in the mirror daily for the way she looks.

At the end of the day I'm just skin. I'm miles and miles of skin who takes up space. I soak up

people's words like a sponge until I’m drowning in it. It doesn't matter if I'm skinnier now. I can

have every eye on me and still wouldn't be able to look at them. It took me a long time to learn

my bones are just bones and my skin is just skin.

And I'm just a girl who deserves a full meal. I deserve clothes in my size, and I deserve to live life.

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