It started when I was 12. I weighed less than 30kg, and my weight was what almost all girls in my town wanted. I looked perfect, I thought.
Lockdowns started and I stopped all sports and ate a lot, not caring about my weight as I never had to anyway. Mom commented that my thighs started growing big. I laughed, but the prideful person I am, I stared at the mirror for an hour, and denied it.
It’s a long story, but one thing I did of which I remember well is eating 2 mouthfuls of rice and 2 pieces of pork for dinner when I was 13. Mom said I was weird, and I started eating my small portions of meals in secret and in a heart of guilt. I hated myself. It’s factual that I can control my weight, so it’s my fault I’m fat. And I can’t even say I’m insecure, because it’s not biblical and then I feel guilty.
I shocked myself when I didn’t even know what my favourite type of clothes were. I buy every single piece of clothing not because it looks good but because it is able to conceal the shape of my thighs. I know I’m insecure, and it’s eating me from inside.
I’ve worked out so many times, only to bulk my thighs up. I tried different workout styles but my thigh size stayed the same. I then concluded I was suffering from lipedema. But I never stopped giving up.
I wake up and stare at my thighs every morning. It’s sickening. Once I concluded I didn’t care anymore, but I never did. I never stopped caring. Not even once. It’s torturing to walk or sit in public and I feel nauseated when I’m wearing shorts outside. Maybe I’m mentally ill. I thought I’d get over it but I never did. I don’t know how to face it.
It’s just something I wrote cause I have so much piled in me. Thanks for reading.
Idk what to do
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