Dear….. I get it. I’m skinny. I am 19 years old, I am 5’5 and I weigh just 100 pounds. I know that I am classified as underweight. I know that you can see my ribs in a bikini, and I know that your hand can fit around my wrist. I get that “lots of girls wish they were me” and that “I am so lucky that I get to eat what I want”. And if I so get and understand all of these facts, then why do people constantly feel the need to point them out to me? It’s as if they think I don’t own a mirror or a scale. It’s as if they think I love the way I look and the body that I live in. It’s almost like they think I am entirely clueless as to how I appear to others.
No. I am not anorexic. No. I am not bulemic. No. I do not have any other type of eating disorder.
I am just me.
I don’t understand why people can’t understand. It hurts when they comment about my weight. It hurts that I can’t stand up for myself. It hurts that nobody believes me when I say I am full.
It’s not my fault that I can’t eat more than half of a sandwich without getting full. It’s not my fault that I can’t drink soda because of how full the bubbles make me feel. It’s not my fault that I have to eat small, frequent portions throughout the whole day. It’s not my fault that I have to carry a snack when I leave the house because I get hungry so frequently.
And it is most certainly not my fault that other people cannot see beyond the surface. That they cannot find what lies underneath the outer layer of who I am. That they are so rooted in their stereotypes that they are blind to the fact that I am a person and that I have feelings.
It isn’t my fault that they don’t know that the things they say to me hurt more than the way I see myself in the mirror before I even step out into the world in fear of hearing their comments and feeling their stares.
It. Isn’t. My. Fault. At. All.