I’m writing today to let you know that I get it.
I get your feelings about your body. I get how badly you want your body to change. I do.
I know those feelings. I know the curled-up-in-a-ball, choking-on-your-own-snot sobbing that can come with just wanting to finally (please — please-for-the-love-of-god) be beautiful. Or thin. Or, for fuck’s sake, just ok, just ok, so that when people size you up as they walk by, you know they’re not doing it because you’re wrong. Just ok enough to look in the mirror and not have that feeling — that shamed/ sick/ how-the-fuck-am-I-this-person feeling. To look like you look in your head, to look how you’re desperate to look. To be lovable and to have the fact that you’re lovable reflected in your skin and your shape and your size. To just be normal or desirable or — goddamnit — pretty
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