Big Girl by Kelsey Miller

I was a tiny girl until I reached puberty. Then I grew taller than my entire basketball team (the growing stopped there. I’m five two) and sprouted ungodly breasts. Well ungodly for the fourth grade anyway. Just big enough to make me self-conscious. I grew a few extra pounds around  my waist. Just enough so that I could bless myself with the f word. At age ten, I christened myself as fat.

            I had no idea this weight was “womanly” I had no business being womanly. Like I said, I was ten. My best friend and I whispered about these mysterious developments at sleepovers, the only time we dare utter it aloud. One time we each snuck up to her bathroom to weigh ourselves and report back to each other. She was always heavier so I soon dreaded these excursions, especially since I knew that she and all my other friends were secretly jealous of my boobs.

            When I was in eighth grade, I started liking my boobs and the attention they got me. But I hated how my hips jutted out so awkwardly. I decided by the end of eighth grade I would weigh 90 pounds. I didn’t even have to try. I was so miserable at school I was never hungry at lunch. Sometimes I would eat French fries, that was the extent of my meal. An Iced tea was always a staple in my diet but food was optional. By the time my parents yanked me out to home school me I was at the point of curiosity where I tried to purge after my meals. I still like strawberries but I will never look at them the same. I hovered around 93 pounds until a doctor asked if she needed to be concerned.

            All through high school I was skinny. Not skinny enough to get away with crop tops but skinny enough so that I didn’t have to be concerned. No one else called me fat because I wasn’t. In college it got even better because I was playing several sports and walking everywhere especially uphill. After I downloaded a pedometer I saw I once walked seven miles in a single day. Not only did I lose weight I got in better shape. Freshmen fifteen? Puh-lease. Then came the suicide sage and ten medications. And I started putting on the pounds.

My cheeks swelled like I was a chipmunk. My breasts ballooned out of my bra. And none of my clothes fit. I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me. I tried to eat less. But I was just so hungry. All the time. Any time my parents left me alone I would gorge myself with whatever food happened to be in the area. I felt ravenous digging into a third slice of cake. I had indeed become a big girl.

Eventually I had enough of feeling unattractive, ignored, brushed off and written off entirely by the opposite sex. I decided to lose weight and I decided to join Weight Watchers. At first I was very disciplined. I didn’t touch snacks or dessert. And I lost about 20 pounds. However, pride goeth before the fall. They raised my medicine around Christmas time (notorious for snacking and dessert) because that was the time of  year my mental illnesses ran rampant. I became hungry again and showed no restraint on anything. I just kept eating and the pounds began to crawl back.

I don’t like to look myself in the mirror. Most of my clothes have been regulated to the drawer “too small”. My own stomach disgusts me and yes I’ve googled how much money it costs for a tummy tuck. Sometimes I hate my body so much I cry with frustration. My boyfriend puts up with this patiently, calling me the most beautiful woman in the world and saying he loves curves. This isn’t curves. This is just fat.

I know most people regain weight they lost. But I also know I’m very good at accomplishing what I set my mind to. That’s how I made Dean’s List when I was hospitalized. Or self- published four books. Or convinced my parents to let me stay all night at my friends 21st birthday party when I was seventeen.  I may be a big girl now but that’s going to change. I take responsibility for my body and I know one day I will shimmy into a dress, look into the mirror and smile with satisfaction.