I am never going to be you.
No matter how we may fuss or fight or argue….
Or how you may gently prod
Then aggressively punch your words into me…
I will not become the lithe, sylphlike, featly girl you have wanted me to be…
for so long…
No, mother, I will never. ever. be skinny. I will never be as thin as you once were.
Nor do I think I want to be.
800 calories a day does not sound like discipline, it sounds like punishment.
Remember when I would refuse to eat because I thought I did something wrong?
You weren’t around for that…you wouldn’t know.
I was a size six.
And everyone told me how cute I had become.
Loved how I had finally lost my baby fat.
When I was afraid to go into the cafeteria at school, some days I would not eat at all.
I wouldn’t recognize what hunger felt like for six years.
When you scream my name as I bend over to pick up my sister for a piggyback ride…
When you have your friends berate me on my weight gain as you sit next to them….moments after I had just met them
When you remark to me “well from one fat ass to a future fat ass”
When you admonish that birth control is the cause for my “blow up”
When you ignore medical records that say otherwise…
When you tell me that my booty wobbles like a stripper
I realize that I will never be you.
Nor do I want to be.
We are not built the same.
Physically, I carry more than you with style.
Mentally, I carry more than you with grace.
I know the power of words and how when they strike well, it can crush a person more than two thousand pounds.
I know that an entire childhood of weight watchers
And portion sizes
Eventually translates to a full days caloric intake being one Slimfast shake
Becomes Forced vomiting until blood vessels break all over your face
Morphs into Hunger headaches and frequent naps to remain stable…
I know that a mother’s constant heckling, tugging, pulling and pinching
Hurts more than going from a size eight to a twelve in two years.
It feels worse than gaining thirty pounds in that span of time.
It feels worse than seeing the utter confusion on your doctor’s face when you tell them
"I want to lose weight"
And they can only reply with “where”
It feels worse than your boyfriend telling you that if you were to tone up, maybe your sex would be better.
It feels like defeat.
It looks like not staring at yourself in the mirror for years..
It looks like 5 minutes of hairstyling where you look only at your scalp.
It looks like a fourteen year old pulling the skin from her sides and hips—
wishing she could cut off the excess
When she is a size four and 125 pounds.
It smells like nausea
It tastes like bile from dry heaves of stomach filled with nothing but your own feelings of inadequacy
It tastes like salted lips covered in tears and snot
It tastes like blood from stomach linings.
But mother the one thing that is worse than your expectations for me.
Are your expectations for my sister.
My 12 year old. Athletic baby girl.
Who panics when she can’t fit into skinny jeans
Who cries when she goes from a zero to a one in dress pants.
Who feels a nervous delight when I give her a can of sprite
Because it’s our little secret and she’s cheating on her diet.
My sister who grabs at bits of her skin and squeezes
"chunky chunky chunky" as a joke…now…
But I know what she will become.
And it hurts more than anything you could have ever done or said to me.
I am not you. I will never be as skinny or thin as you used to be.
Nor will I be as sick as I was before.
I have accepted this.
But you have not.
And Now. This shit’s got to stop.