From my father making fun of me for being “chubby” when I was small to hating the way my

From my father making fun of me for being “chubby” when I was small to hating the way my thighs rubbed together when I walked, I hated entering public spaces. I used to do this thing where I’d tip-toe up the stairs, open the door really, really slowly then creep into the scene so that no one would see me. My anxiety stemmed from not wanting to be noticed. Why? In my head, there was nothing to see. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t cute or smart. I couldn’t fit into those tiny frayed denim shorts from Abercrombie like all the other girls. I was just a blob in men’s clothing because Mom ain’t have the money or resources to find clothes for her obese daughter. I was always obsessed with models on the catwalk and watched America’s Next Top Model religiously. I’d put on an old pair of heels and in my pajamas, I’d put my hands on my fat waist and strut. Click. Click. Click. The thick heels sounded on Mom’s wooden floor. I’d be on my own personal runway. Some sort of star. I’d go in the bathroom, shut the door, and look in the mirror. I’d work my angles just like Tyra suggested to the size 4 models. I’d smile and tilt my head and try to elongate my fat neck. Not knowing that one day this fat neck and thighs that still rub together would be sort of a big deal. I look at fear differently. It was all in my head. I was so afraid of what other people thought of my round body that I made myself sick. Now, there’s no fear when I step into a room. I burst in that bitch. I smile, arch my back, and strut, a party, Wal-Mart. My runway ain’t in Mom’s house anymore in a little girls head. My runway IS the entire world. Kind of iconic if you ask me IG: Lvernon2000www.beautyandthemuse.net -- source link

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