Dear “Best Friend,”
You’re the reason I gained weight. You and your pressure are strangling me. You begrudge me for being thin, and take my size as a personal insult. I know because you snap at me, tell me I’m exaggerating about things just because I’m skinny. You yell at me when I suggest you try on something that’s bigger than me, screaming that it won’t fit. You throw fits.
All the while, you’re putting me down. Making me feel horrible so you can feel a little better, and you don’t even enjoy feeling better. You simply continue to abuse me.
I gained weight because of the hate I’m getting from you, and the multitude of girls who insult me because I’m not “curvy.” I went up two sizes because you all made me hate myself.
Now, it’s finally getting through to me that it is just jealousy, I shouldn’t let it beat me. Now, I realize I’m allowed to love my body. I can be skinny, I don’t have to put on pounds to please you.
Now, I hate myself more for changing because of you.
Calling me anorexic has never helped. Ever. I have no idea why you and my sister decided it would – it just makes me more upset. Your scathing remarks when I starve myself make me want to keep at it, withering away into my grave. Starving is my method of coping with all you put me through.
Calling me slutty for wearing things you know you’d wear if you were my size, wearing things you’ve admitted you’d wear if you were, doesn’t do anything but hurt me even more. I am not a slut. I don’t dress inappropriately. My butt doesn’t hang out of my shorts like you like to say, either.
Calling me flat is the truth, but it’s not called for, it’s totally not called for. You don’t think I’d change it if I could? You don’t think I’ve dreamed of getting surgery?
Snapping at me when I say I want a better stomach is stupid. I’m allowed to want muscle like everyone else. I’m allowed to feel fat, too.
When you’re not around, I love my body. My figure, my legs, my arms. I like being slender. Then you come like a thunderstorm, leaving me hating myself.
How would you like it if I were to snap at you for eating? You don’t need to gain weight, I do. Or if I were to call you fat? To shout at you when you complain about your size?
You’re a hypocrite. I know this. But you still make me miserable.