Okay so I lied. I regressed. I have taken my body art to a complete new level, such that I’ve got a word on the back of my forearm this time. It’s all my relatives' fault, and my stupid sister. At each house we went to, my relatives would comment on skinny my dumbass sister is “Wendy, you’re so skinny!” And I’m sitting there like: “Oh yeah. Awesome stuff.”

I wore a dress that I bought from Dorothy Perkins the year before but couldn't find an occasion to wear it. Plus, I thought my mum would say how weird it would be. The dress had slits at each sleeve so my shoulders are exposed. And the dress is knee length too because I’m too short to pull off a maxi dress right now. But I completely forgot about the fact that I have butt ugly large muscular calves. So when my aunt pictures of all her nieces taken, I looked like a freak. A pretty dress does not go with man calves. So I came out looking like a fat drag queen. It’s bad enough that I look like a man, considering I inherited my father’s cheena-looking facial features.

I have the small eyes, the bulbous nose, the misaligned jaw and the flat footedness. As if I’m not enough of a freak already, God had to come all down and make me obese. And to top it off, all the relatives were all “Wendy, you’re so slim!” And I just sat there thinking how I wish I had never come. So I hid in the kitchen of my grandfather’s house while everybody was mingling over the dining table. And I sat with my grandfather’s domestic helper and she said she thought I was much prettier than my sister and that made me feel better and I gave her a hug. But I still felt disgusted by how I lucked out in the looks department. No boy wants a girl with mannish facial features and shoulders and calves. I predict that I would perish a spinster.

So the two days of visiting were filled with comments about how skinny my sister looked and I feel mortified at myself. I’ve been fat all my life and been trying to lose weight since I was probably 17 and I’m still looking the same? Something has got to give!

So yesterday when I came back from visiting, my dad left for a company function and my stupid sister went for a “friend’s birthday party”, I decided to go and run. And I ran for twenty minutes and felt so uncomfortable. I felt as if my clothes were sticking to me and exposing my whole fat torso. That, or my shoes were too small, or my shirt was too small or my bra was too tight (Nike sport bras are a BITCH) or my arms were bouncing too much. Something was making me feel so bloody uncomfortable. I went home and just suddenly screamed at no one at particular, because no one was in the house and just screamed and screamed and screamed and ignored Bobby’s incessant barking the entire time and I started slapping at myself. My arms, my face, my stomach, my thighs and punched my calves real hard because that’s the body part I abhor the most. And I started hurting, but I didn’t want to stop right there. Nuh uh.

So I went to kitchen and started overturning the cabinet and unearthed a safety pin and I carved the word “fat” just above my elbow. When I was done, I just sat back and the sofa and closed my eyes and let the tears come all the way through, and just breathed in and out really deep. Like I was meditating or something and letting the physical pain course through my entire system.

I’m not psychotic. Nor am I crazy or have a mental disorder, classifiable or not. I’m just hurting. Deep inside. My desire for perfectionism has driven me to such extreme steps that its making me feel mentally exhausted. Even as I’m writing, or rather, typing this down, I’m crying, because I hurt so much, but people who don’t go through what I’m going through cannot understand, because they don’t know how much effort it takes to try to ignore all these mental taunts that you throw at yourself, and how much effort it requires to get back on your feet and get back at the game again, and time and time again, be thrown to the ground again and having to go through the same process.

It is just crap. Honestly, because I’m so tired. I am changing and trying and that’s so much better than constantly whining about it and sitting your ass on the chair all day and doing nothing. I know I’m not pretty and that can’t change, because I’m born looking like a man. And because I’m genetic

Okay so I lied. I regressed. I have taken my body art to a complete new level, such that I’ve got a word on the back of my forearm this time. It’s all my relative’s fault, and my stupid sister. At each house we went to, my relatives would comment on our skinny mu sister is “Wendy, you’re so skinny!” And I’m sitting there like: “Oh yeah. Awesome stuff.”

I wore a dress that I bought from Dorothy Perkins the year before but couldn’t find an occasion to wear it. Plus, I thought my mum would say how weird it would be. The dress had slits at each sleeve so my shoulders are exposed. And the dress is knee length too because I’m too short to pull off a maxi dress right now. But I completely forgot about the fact that I have butt ugly large muscular calves. So when my aunt pictures of all her nieces taken, I looked like a freak. A pretty dress does not go with man calves. So I came out looking like a fat drag queen. It’s bad enough that I look like a man, considering I inherited my father’s cheena-looking facial features.

I have the small eyes, the bulbous nose, the misaligned jaw and the flat footedness. As if I’m not enough of a freak already, God had to come all down and make me obese. And to top it off, all the relatives were all “Wendy, you’re so slim!” And I just sat there thinking how I wish I had never come. So I hid in the kitchen of my grandfather’s house while everybody was mingling over the dining table. And I sat with my grandfather’s domestic helper and she said she thought I was much prettier than my sister and that made me feel better and I gave her a hug. But I still felt disgusted by how I lucked out in the looks department. No boy wants a girl with mannish facial features and shoulders and calves. I predict that I would perish a spinster.

So the two days of visiting were filled with comments about how skinny my sister looked and I feel mortified at myself. I’ve been fat all my life and been trying to lose weight since I was probably 17 and I’m still looking the same? Something has got to give!

So yesterday when I came back from visiting, my dad left for a company function and my stupid sister went for a “friend’s birthday party”, I decided to go and run. And I ran for twenty minutes and felt so uncomfortable. I felt as if my clothes were sticking to me and exposing my whole fat torso. That, or my shoes were too small, or my shirt was too tight or my arms were bouncing too much. Something was making me feel so bloody uncomfortable. I went home and just suddenly screamed at no one at particular, because no one was in the house and just screamed and screamed and screamed and ignored Bobby’s incessant barking the entire time and I started slapping at myself. My arms, my face, my stomach, my thighs and punched my calves read lard because that’s the body part I hate the most. And I started hurting, but I didn’t want to stop.

So I went to kitchen and started overturning the cabinet and unearthed a safety pin and I carved the word “fat” just above my elbow. When I was done, I just sat back and the sofa and closed my eyes and let the tears come all the way through, and just breathed in and out really deep. Like I was meditating or something and letting the physical pain course through my entire system.

I’m not psychotic. Nor am I crazy or have a mental disorder, classifiable or not. I’m just hurting. Deep inside. My desire for perfectionism has driven me to such extreme steps that its making me feel mentally exhausted. Even as I’m writing, or rather, typing this down, I’m crying, because I hurt so much, but people who don’t go through what I’m going through cannot understand, because they don’t know how much effort it takes to try to ignore all these mental taunts that you throw at yourself, and how much effort it requires to get back on your feet and get back at the game again, and time and time again, be thrown to the ground again and having to go through the same process.

It is just crap. Honestly, because I’m so tired. I am changing and trying and that’s so much better than constantly whining about it and sitting your ass on the chair all day and doing nothing. I know I’m not pretty and that can’t change, because I’m born looking like a man. And because I’m genetically female, that makes me a freak.

No wonder I display over-compensatory behavior in my school work.
ally female, that makes me a freak.

No wonder I display over-compensatory behavior in my school work.