some days i remember how i would give up almost all my other hopes & dreams if i could look like a model
I copy and paste this, instead of a reblog; this was a post on a private tumblr, and I do not want to spread that url.
There are dreams I have where I cut out all my fat with a very tiny, sharp knife, then stitch up my skin with big ugly red lines. There are fantasies of the weight dropping off me onto the sidewalk as I move. It is easy to make the trade, to give up all the other hopes & dreams to be beautiful, because if I were beautiful I would need not any hopes or dreams—they would be reality. If I were thin, I would never again assume that a smile I caught was actually directed at someone just behind me. If I weren’t fat, I would never have to discuss fat again—I could exist in willful bliss, would never have to apologize to people who do not give me the room to get by without bumping into them, never feel sad that I will never have a meet-cute on the train because no one will ever sit next to me.
I think all these things, and yet, I know they are not true. Even if I were thin, I would distrust all the kind smiles thrown my way. I would not talk to anyone who sat beside me on the train. I would still go tense whenever a friend too casually threw out the word in reference to her body, and I would still be screaming in my head, nerves wracked, when another spent fifteen minutes grasping for a synonym while staring at me.
Even if I were thin, I would still be fat.
It’s hard to tell yourself that, though.