My clothes don't fit

Mon, 10/06/2014 - 13:44 -- otnemem

I have always been insecure about my appearance-

most specifically my stomach.


I distinctly remember being handed a pair of shorts in a dressing room,

and I couldn't zip them up,

and my stepmother laughed, pointed at my tummy, and said, 

"Wow, you've gotten fat!"


I remember going to a souveneir shop

and picking out some cute bikinis

and I remember the knocking on the door,

the rap of my mother's knuckles 

and her pleading for me to open the door

but I just couldn't,

I couldn't let anyone see how my stomach looked in that damn bikini.

The crying girl in the mirror stared at me and swore not to wear another bikini-

don't let that stomach show, at any cost.


It was only a few years ago that I started losing weight,

and everyone kept saying it. 

I knew I had lost weight,

but it wasn't until I saw a picture of me from middle school

that I realized just how much skinnier I had gotten.


I constantly heard nothing but

"You're so pretty!"

"You've lost so much weight!"

"You've gotten so much skinnier!"

"You keep getting smaller every time I see you!"

"You've lost so much weight, you look gogrgeous!"

And when they asked me how I'd done it,

I smiled politely and I shrugged.


Maybe I didn't have the time to sit around and eat as much as I used to,

maybe it was the daily PE classes and the forced exercises.

Maybe it was the crippling sadness that was diagnosed as depression

and maybe it was that feeling I'd get when I'd lie down 

and no matter how hungry I was,

I couldn't find the strength to get up.


And in a year, 

I started having trouble focusing 

and I couldn't stop daydreaming

and it was diagnosed as ADD.

The meds helped me focus

but I lost my appetite.

I made good grades,

but I always skipped breakfast,

and sometimes lunch too.


And still I heard

"You've lost so much weight!"

"You're so gorgeous!"

"I wish I had your legs/stomach/body!"

"I wish I could be you!"



No, you don't.


I keep being praised for losing more weight

and I keep getting compliments

and it just needs to stop.

I don't want to be reminded of the fact that the clothes that fit me only months ago

are much too loose now.

I know I keep a lot to myself,

but why would you assume that I am happy about my size?

Why would you praise me for having these things that are wrong with me,

these things that must be corrected with medication?


Why would you want the things that I struggle with?


By now, 

I don't care so much about my weight,

I always tell people I'd rather be "fat" and content

than skinny and miserable.

But iif the end doesn't justify the means-

if everyone thinks you're pretty on the outside but you're really miserable on the inside-

what's the point?

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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