Fuck You Itty Bitty Bikini

I'm so sick of fighting with myself.

I'm sick of the up and down and the "you're ok" "no you're not" "you're fat" "you do need to eat" "no you don't"...

My legs are sore from working out.

My feet hurt from standing and walking and running so much—but I can't bare to sit down because it makes me feel fat. I've convinced myself that I must stand to burn more calories.

I've been doing 45 minutes or more of cardio everyday for two weeks almost, but yesterday I took the entire day off because I was weak. I lost sight of my goal, which is to lose 5 pounds immediately.

I've given into my urges to eat bites of a cookie. To have an extra protein bar to try to not be so hungry later, but that never works, I'm always hungry.

As I sat on the bus today I felt my fat stick over the side of my shorts. I felt the elastic squeeze me tighter—that sensation wasn't there before. I am reminded of my failure.

My bra doesn’t fit right because I have boobs again—I missed them.

I run up the stairs to my studio and feel my ass jiggle. Another cue. I clench my teeth and begin to condemn myself for not trying hard enough for not being better at losing weight.

I am weak for giving up. I am weak for not being able to go meals without eating. For not wanting to throw up after one. For not saying no to cookies at work.

I hate others that are thin that eat whatever they want with no abandon. Skinny girls that walk around in their cute outfits drinking, not caring about the calories.

I try on countless outfits only to end up in my underwear with clothes littered around me. I am faced with just my reflection. I'm in my Victoria's Secret matching set. I look nothing like those models.

I look away to avoid crying.

After dinner and giving into eating more than I should I have to pack for a river floating trip.

I get everything done except my bikini. I put my game face on and grab the one I'm always comfortable in. The one with the bottoms that sometimes sag and make me feel ok. I pull them on, there is no sag, they are tight and I'm ballooning out of every inch of it. And no I'm not being sarcastic. They don't fit anymore and it looks like I'm trying to wear a fucking thong rather than bottoms.

I try on another pair, my cellulite is there for all to see. My imperfections standing loud and proud. Mocking me.

I try on one more and they are a little better. But as my eyes trace my thighs that touch and my dimpled skin and my curves I feel them coming, the tears, the hot white anger and the shame.
There's nowhere for me to go, to hide, to make things better, this here and now is who I am and I can't fucking stand it.

I'm torn between breaking down and ripping my body to shreds. Screaming, throwing, fighting, destroying whatever I can. Then I cry. I pull the bottoms off and hide in a blanket. Me and my pathetic self.

Did you know that I haven't worn a bathing suit all summer? Well now you do. Not once. You know what's sad to me is that I work out all the fucking time and I'm still not in good enough shape to be seen almost naked. And I'll go through this entire summer hiding. When will I be good enough?

And it upsets me that I feel this way. I really wish I didn't. I envy guys that can just pull on baggy board shorts and go. For girls it's not easy.  I wish I could remember what I just realized recently. I truly understand what they say about media's influence on us.

The only life I really know outside my own is what's on tv or what people chose to tell me. So all I've seen about norms with sex, relationships, success, body image has been learned through television. But when I go to the beach and see girls that are heavier than me pulling off bathing suits with more confidence than me, it puts me at ease. I see the truth I guess. But I don't ever remember this. Plus if the movie stars can look perfect then why not me?

Fuckers.