PERFECTION Is A Disease of A Nation

I was fourteen years old, the date was April 20th, 2009.

It was a Monday afternoon, 1:35p.m exactly because that’s when Math B started. “How well you remember things will be the best thing and worst thing for you,” says anyone when I remember anyone’s statement verbatim. I was doing really well that day. I just finished eating lunch so I was ready to focus on the lesson that was prepared. For lunch, we had a cheesy pasta, and I was in love with pasta at the time. As I finished the first twenty problems in my book and waited for the teacher to say what was next, I listened to my surroundings.

 

“Just look at her,” said Sydnee. Sydnee was a girl who never liked me. She had short hair, was around 5’3, and had a big butt which was what she received attention for.

 

“She thinks she’s cute cause she has long hair. WRONG. The only thing she has going for her is her hair. She’s so fat and disgusting.”

 

I pretended not to hear, while I tried to not wipe away that tear that was dying to fall out my eye. I pretended to write in my notebook so I would look busy and unbothered.

“Look at her trying to ignore me, her fat a**”

 

As I continued trying to figure out something to write down, I heard the whole class laughing at her statements about me.

 

Our class was really small, 13 kids the most, they all heard her, they are all laughing at me now. “Why can’t my period come?” I questioned in my head. Almost all my friends had received their period at age 12, I was a late bloomer. My mother always told me, “don’t worry it’s water weight, as soon as your period comes, you’ll be skinny just like your sister.”

 

June 23rd, 2009, was the day of my graduation from middle school. That same morning before walking across the stage, symbolizing that I was ready for ninth grade, my dress strap broke. As happy as I was to graduate, I was even happier to go out to eat and celebrate after. The biscuits were on my mind.

 

Four hours later after being home, I decided to get some cereal. I was just about to go upstairs to ask my mother and sister if they wanted some when I heard my mother saying to my sister, “God she big that she ripped her dress.” My sister laughed.

“Where is your sister?” my mother asked.

“She’s downstairs getting some cereal,” my sister answered.

“Oh hell no.”

 

My mother yelled at me to go put the cereal back in the kitchen. As she looked at me with eyes of disgust as I went upstairs, she says “Live to eat, not eat to live.”

 

As I turned off all my lights, crawled into my bed, and cried my eyes out …

I had one final thought in my head, Make them regret the day they ever called you fat.

 

 

SIDE NOTE/DISCLAIMER: I created a separate blog in 2014. I reminisced about the thoughts I had about my eating disorder and how I changed. Writing about it allowed me to realize how far I’ve come. Hopefully, this can help someone who is going through the same struggle. This is not to encourage starving yourself or bulimia. Love yourself always, and I’m happy I finally learned how to do that myself.