This is not something I usually talk about on here. But I kinda have to let this out right now.
I’ve thought I was chubby since I was a little kid. I was actually not, I was at a completely normal weight for my age and height up until the age of 8 or 9. I switched schools then, stopped having my grandma’s protection and food and started buying chips and cakes and junk food after school and my weight piled on me to the point I was well over 50kgs at the age of 10.
I was teased, yes. I was tomboyish and I wore round glasses, I was top of the class, and all my efforts to hang out with the cool kids meant nothing in the end, ‘cause they were already picking up smoking and drinking and all that and I still liked playing with dolls.
I got really taller during 6th grade, and my weight stayed the same for a few months, which made me, well, skinny. Everyone still saw me as fat, anyways, and I ate my way back to, well, not fat, but to more than my classmates weighted at the age of 12. At this point I was 164cm and around 65kgs, I’d say. I was the tallest in my class, and probably the heaviest. Guys would call me ugly and I was just one of the guys to them, since I was always with them and everything. I acted like it was ok for me, when it clearly wasn’t.
Then at 13, I went through a really rough time, I matured faster than everyone else in my class, or at least we all matured in a different way, we weren’t kids anymore, we had opinions and point of views, and I noticed how sick the world was and how awful everything was… I also met T, and I spent more time on the computer than ever, and even with having my first real boyfriend that I loved deeply, and maybe because of that too, since I got confortable, I gained up to being 77kgs at the end of 9th grade.
I always carried my weight on my butt and thighs, mainly, so it never showed that much, but I was still very overweight and not confortable with myself, and the teasing from previous years echoed in my head, so I decided to lose that weight. My goal was 62kgs, which was the “perfect” weight for my height, and seemed a reasonable number to me. I started during summer, and got down to less than 70 when school started. Everyone started complimenting me and it made me feel awesome about myself. It made me feel like I was achieving something. I wanted perfection, at this point. I studied all day long, exercised on my studying breaks, and conveniently “forgot” to eat while studying. I amazed the teachers, I got 20s in pretty much every subject, I upped my PE grade by a lot, comparing to previous years, and everyone was just clapping at me and complimenting me about everything. It was so stupid how no one could see. Until Christmas break, I managed to get down to 61kgs, and on Christmas week I still managed to lose weight, and got down to 60kgs. I had met my goal, but at this point I had no idea how to stop. I tried eating more, but I was still losing weight. So I tried to stop caring, and I gained weight. And any gram on the scale would make me freak out. I wasn’t even used to seeing the number staying the same, so when it did stay the same, I would still freak out and wonder what had I done wrong, why was I not losing weight, even though I didn’t even WANT to lose any weight, realistically. I stopped having my period for six months, from November to May. My nails were blue and I was very pale, even though I was at a “normal”, even “ideal” weight for my height. O took blood tests and my iron levels and white cells count were really, really low. I got scared and started eating as much as I could. My wrecked metabolism gained back up to 70kgs. I was a mess, I cried myself to sleep, I felt like a loser, and then I met Ricardo, my ex-boyfriend. He made me feel confortable about myself, and with that, I stopped bingeing as much, and my body went naturally back to the 67kgs it had weight on my first teenage years, when I was a chubby but not fat kid.
That’s where I stay. I like my body now, even though I still carry the image of me being 62kgs in mind, ‘cause that was when I liked my body the best. I want to lose weight to be 62 or 63 again, yes. I’d even be happy with 65. But I’m so terrified of getting back to the point I was at, when I counted every single calorie and would start crying if I had 100 more than I had planned, or if for some reason I had to miss a workout, that I go back and forth on this. I am moderately active, and I don’t eat like a pig, so I know I’m healthier than most people and that my body is just not meant to be tiny. But yeah, 63 sounds much nicer. I’m crossing my fingers, hoping I can lose 5kgs the healthy way and not get down that ED road again.
Sex is pretty literal, and means sex, romance, kisses, hot bodies.
Coffee means everything that reminds me of T, pretty much.
Poetry means everything that I find particularly meaningful.
Cigarettes is related to N.
So the title of my tumblr leads back to a boy, yes. But to a lot more than that. It leads back to me, my past, my present and my hopeful future. My dreams, and my essence. Everything I am can be found on those three little words.
[edited on the 17th of April 2011]