10Flashback to Eighth Grade
Well, one thing about eighth grade.
Not the drama. Not the depression. Not that silly little relationship with that silly little boy.
Just the Ana.
It felt so good to have people notice, to have people say, “Wow you’ve lost so much weight.” Haven’t heard that in years. I swear I have a fucking thyroid problem or something. I eat relatively healthy food (excluding the ice cream I ate today, hence why I now hate myself) and I work out all the time. I dance Tuesdays and Thursdays and then Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I go to the gym. Every time I go to the gym I do at least an hour on the elliptical, which usually burns anywhere from 700-900 calories depending on the machine and how intense I am that day. That’s half, if not more, of my caloric intake each day. But no matter what, I don’t lose weight. I don’t think I’ve lost any weight since middle school, but I sure as hell have gained enough. Some nights I just lay in bed and feel my stomach and can’t help but hate myself. Sometimes when I’m with Mike, I feel better about myself. He tells me I’m beautiful and sexy, and I think he legitimately means it, but that doesn’t stop me from finding myself repulsive.
Another thing I can’t stand, and hopefully can alter somewhat if I lose weight, are my breasts. They are WAY too big, for any regular height person, and especially for someone my height. I hate everyone who says they wish they had my breasts. Do you wish you had back problems? Do you wish to pay twice as much as everyone else for a bra and four times as much for a bathing suit (that is if you can even find one the right size)? Do you want to never be able to buy a dress that fits perfectly because your top half is several sizes bigger than your bottom half? No. Nobody wants that. As a dancer, this is a problem for me every day. My modern teacher often asks us to turn sideways while sitting on the floor and look at our stomach and spine as we contract and breathe. While everyone else has a nice curve, both in their back and their stomach, mine is like one big blob of stomach and breasts, no space between my breast and legs. It’s almost comical, besides the fact that it makes me want to never eat again. I can’t even do certain stretches because my breasts are literally in the way. There’s one stretch where we have to pull our knee up to our chest and interlock the fingers of both hands beneath our foot, but I can never interlock my fingers completely under my foot. This isn’t because I’m not flexible enough, I can do a split on both sides and blah blah blah, but I literally can’t lift my leg high enough to lock my fingers under my foot because at a point, my knee hits my breasts and cannot go any closer to my body.
I always say how I want to get breast reduction surgery and people always say, “No don’t do that. Don’t change yourself.” or “Your boyfriend would be pissed HAHAHATROLOLOLOL” I don’t know if they think they’re being nice or funny, but they’re legitimately being a bunch of ass holes. Although it’s kinda looked down upon in society, when a transgendered person wants to get surgery to change their biological sex, people understand that it’s because they feel like they were born into the wrong body. How is what I want any different? This body that I have now doesn’t match who I am, so what’s so wrong about me wanting to change that to make myself happy? As for the second comment I often get from people, my response is, “Wow, I didn’t realize they were his breasts.” It’s my body, not his and I know that he would love me no matter what my breasts looked like. I’ve mentioned the idea to him before, and of course he says “No, I like your breasts” (actually he calls them boobilies). He says no because he wants me to know that he loves me just the way I am, not because he wouldn’t love me if I had smaller breasts. I could dye my hair hot pink and dress like a pirate every day and he would still tell me I’m beautiful, and I love him for that.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m fat and have giant boulders attached to my chest. If I stop eating like I did in eighth grade, maybe I’ll start to get skinny again. Maybe I’ll loose enough weight that my boobs will shrink some. Maybe one day I’ll be beautiful.
Now all I have to do is ANA.
