This is not something that I ever thought I would be talking about – it’s one of those things that I’ve locked up in my never-to-be-mentioned box, you know? But I’m feeling okay at the moment and I think that right now might be a good time to take it out again.
I never thought that I would be someone who would worry about weight. I still don’t really consider to have worried – I don’t know, it’s just a scary thing to label something. It’s just a thing that happened to me, and it wasn’t even that big an event. I never did anything because I was too scared.
You see, when I was younger I didn’t have a lot of self confidence. I started getting spots from around the age of 10, when the majority of my friends still had very clear skin. I briefly turned to makeup, but even then there were people in videos telling me that I shouldn’t have to use makeup because I had perfect skin. I didn’t. I also became quite self-conscious about weight about a year later, when I was 11.
I feel so guilty for spending that summer swinging my legs under the desk because I thought it would burn calories and jumping up and down in the evenings. I feel bad that I have given in to the media and expectations. I don’t know if I should feel guilty at all, because I never acted on the voices inside of me. Yes, when I read warning tales like Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson, I kind of secretly admired the heroine, but I never did anything. I don’t know if that makes it better of worse.
To be honest, I don’t really know anything. I don’t want other people to feel that way at such a young age (and I’m so young even now to be thinking about this). I don’t want my friend to eat almost nothing for lunch after skipping breakfast. Me? At the moment, I feel alright about myself, but when I wrote the first draft of this post a month and a half ago I was not alright. It was a post full of self-hate and it hurts to read it. I know that the doubt is still within me somewhere, however hard I try to erase it.
I used to think that worrying about weight was stupid and that I was invincible. I know that I’m not. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with my experiences, because my feelings are so complicated that it’s trying to sort out grains of sand. I guess I can just tell people and hope that they find something they recognise…?