I guess it's time to post again, isn't it?
Um, let me start by saying this: I've hated myself since I realized that I was "different" from all the other kids (around second grade). Kindergarten and first grade weren't so bad for me. The kids were too young to notice my fat, and I was too young to know that it was "unacceptable" or whatever. Once second grade hit, people started to look at me differently. Classmates would push me around on the playground and slowly stop talking to me. I didn't know what was wrong with everyone until I went over to a friend's house for a sleep-over. Even though I was the best behaved kid there, her mom wouldn't even look at me without making a face. When I asked my friend about it at school, she said her mom didn't like me because I was fat.
I put on a lot of weight after that. Part of it was because of what her mom said (I'll never forget it. Never.) and part was because my parents got divorced later that year. I watched tons of TV instead of running around like a kid should to escape myself. When I watched TV, I made myself believe I was the skinniest girl on the show, and until that episode was over, I was okay. I snacked tons when I watched TV (and still do to this day. sigh.) because I needed to have something in my mouth or I couldn't concentrate. I could only think about the chocolate in the kitchen that I had to get before my mom or dad did.
In the middle of second grade, I started hanging out with a scrawny girl from down the street. (Let's call her 'D'.) We spent every minute together. Our friendship was FAR from healthy, but I was too amazed that someone actually wanted to hang out with me to care. She constantly told me how much I suck, and how much better she was than me. When we would go to the mall with her mom, I just wouldn't try stuff on because she told me that I look terrible in "clothes made for skinny people." From then on, I lived in t-shirts and sweat pants.
By fourth grade, I had made a couple of new friends, but the damage was already done. I didn't trust any of them enough to get close to them because I was afraid they would treat me like D did. D and I hadn't hung out much in third grade because she finally made other scrawny friends, and she ditched me, forcing me to find other friends. (She still claims that it was me that ditched her. I wish.) My other friends treated me amazing even though they didn't know much about me, and I didn't know much about them. I started to become happier, and D saw that I guess, so she pounced. She began to hang out with me again, telling me that I was "changing and everyone liked the old me better." Fearing that I'd lose them, I faded back to the "old me" even though it was killing me. I remember telling myself over and over again that I'd never find other friends because no one would want to hang out with the "ugly fat girl."
In sixth grade, I became extremely depressed. I didn't allow myself to acknowledge it, though, because if I drew too much attention to it, my friends would leave me. In sixth grade, I also found my favorite band (My Chemical Romance) and they helped me through a lot of shit. I told myself that if they could make it through all of the shit they went through, I'd be okay. Really, I don't remember much of sixth grade, but I know that instead of being mean to me, people just ignored me. I can't decide which hurt more, truthfully. I started getting really bad migraines and missed a ton of school that year. When I went to the neurologist, he treated me badly because I was fat. He didn't take me seriously and blamed it all on my weight. I was 242 pounds that year. My weight continued to rise.
In seventh grade, I was still pretty depressed. Then it wasn't the people that were hurting me. I had finally ditched D and made a lot of amazing friends (I started hanging out with my best friend, Kristin, that year), but that wasn't enough for me. I was still the fat girl. I started to cut myself around the middle of the school year, and didn't stop until my friends finally made me talk to the school counselor around the last month of school. The counselor didn't actually help me, but she told the principal, who called my mom a week after I told my mom that I cut myself. She told me that I was too young for antidepressants, and I agreed. I thought I would be fine, and I was until summer came around. I loved swimming, but I refused to. I refused to because I still thought of myself as only "the fat girl" and I didn't want to be seen in a swimming suit.
That summer, Kristin saved my life.
In eighth grade, I swore things would be different. I was happier that year than I had ever been, I think. I still had bad days, sure, but Kristin was always there for me. She was the first person (that wasn't on the internet) that I could actually talk to. Around the middle of the year, I decided that I was going to lose weight. I was NOT going to allow myself to think the way I had been thinking for the last six years. I wasn't going to be "the fat girl" anymore. My highest weight was 260 pounds.
This summer has been great for me. I've lost almost forty pounds so far, and that has given me confidence like you wouldn't believe. I'm wearing clothes that fit me like women's clothes should fit. I'm wearing dresses and skirts and bright colors. I've cut my hair short. I've been called beautiful by random people on the street. I'm eating much healthier and that has boosted my spirits and calmed my migraines and made my skin beautiful. I'm finally recognizing myself as the beautiful young woman I am.
Yes, I still have days where I still see myself as the "ugly fat kid," but I don't allow myself to believe it. Those are the days that I find the most beautiful dress in my closet and put it on, just to prove to myself that I am gorgeous. And gorgeous I am.
Hello, my name is Paige. I'm 14, entering the ninth grade, and I'm going to be happy.
Current Mood: indescribable