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I just made an account lol kinda forgot to do that when I first posted this.
I was six pounds when I was born. Crazy, right? I really let myself go. I weigh twenty times that now. It used to be less, before I got ‘Better’. Before I recovered, my struggles, my challenges, every disorder and illness that plagued my mind was worn on the outside. Every pound I lost, other people could see. Every cut, every bruise, all displayed on the skin of my forearm for everyone to look at. Now, I suffer in silence. I can’t speak up, can’t tell anyone how bad I’m feeling because what do I even have to show for it? I’m clean, no self harm for over a year. The only thing that people can see are the residual scars, the memories of the person I once was. I’m fattened up just like they want me to be, like a prized pig that keeps eating my slop no matter how bad the aftertaste is. I want so badly to have control over my own body. To be able to lose just enough weight to be reasonable. Six pounds, I guess. Six stupid pounds that on most people barely make a difference, but I notice. I notice how my face is fuller now that I’ve gained it back, my thighs touch, the loose skin on my elbows is tightening up again as I’m drowning in fat that I don’t need. I don’t need that extra six pounds to be healthy, I can stay alive just fine without it. Heck, it might even do me some good in the long run, once I go off to college and gain my freshman fifteen. That’s not what my doctor thinks, though. She made six pounds sound like the end of the world as if people everywhere aren’t losing double that amount without even a question as to why. I look around at people in my family, realizing they will never know how it feels to have everything in your life controlled by someone. It’s not like I’m still anorexic. I don’t starve myself, I eat three meals a day, and I try to be positive about my looks. It just feels like any sort of deviation from the normal me that people are so used to, the me they so desperately want to believe is real, is such a shock. Six pounds isn’t that much, but I know six can turn into twenty. Twenty can turn into rehab and rehab means more missed school, more bad grades, and more supervision once I get out. So for now, I will stay silent. I won't make noise, won’t protest, and I definitely won’t give any indication to anyone that I’m anything less than a girl who weighs six pounds more than I want to.
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