You make me want to throw up. But not because I think you’re disgusting. No, definitely not! In fact, quite the opposite, I think you’re wonderful! You’re intelligent, you’re sweet, you’re cuddly, you love all of the things I love, and we’re virtually perfect for each other – something you’ve said yourself a number of times. But there’s something keeping us apart. There’s something missing, you said. You don’t find me the most attractive, you said. And it’s not like you wanted to tell me that. Of course not, I had to coax that out of you when you were drunk. Because you would never ever purposely make me feel bad.
I’ve never really cared before. Sure, I’ve been a little frustrated that I didn’t have THE body. But I haven’t ever wanted it this bad. Ever.
But now I can’t watch television or movies without wanting to cry. If only I had their body, I tell myself, if only I was that skinny, if only I could wear those clothes and look that good, if only I could be considered sexy, if only I could turn heads, if only guys would look at me and not just shoot me down because I wear a size 12 instead of a size 6.
It never mattered. Because I’m smart. And I’m friendly. And I’m talented. And I have the best friends in the world and nobody ever cared before. Nobody ever needed me to change.
I am twenty years old and I should be at the prime physical condition of my life. Instead I look like an overweight fourteen year old. A junior in college and I look like I did when I was a sophomore in high school. And you like me. But you don’t want me. You know I’m perfect for you, but you’re not being pulled toward me. Because you don’t think I’m beautiful.
And I’ve tried to lose weight, but I suck at it. I can’t eat healthy all the time. I can’t workout regularly. I’ve tried over and over and over again and I cannot do it.
So maybe I’ll find another way. If that’s what it takes, maybe it’s worth it.