August 9th

Thursday late afternoon

I wasn't going to do it. I thought, I won't be fat forever. In a few months I'll be thin again and the pants will be too big on me. But I did it anyway. I decided to buy a pair of tight jeans that fit me now, while I'm fat. I like tight jeans; they make me look sexy and they go with everything.

So I found a pair of soft Bubblegum blue jeans and black Express capri pants, size 9. I cringed. Size 9 is huge, I thought. I won't, on principle, purchase a size 9. I will wait until I'm thin to shop. But I chucked that idea and went into the fitting room anyway, size 9s in hand.

They didn't fit. The jeans wouldn't go over my saddlebags. I was mortified, alone in the fitting room. I tried on the Express pants. They wouldn't zip up over my stomach.

I felt sad and amused at the same time. Just months ago, I was sliding into 5s and even bought a size 2 business suit. Is this fair?

When I'm fat like this, my life is consumed with wanting to be thin. I can't help it. Being thin feels better. Anyone who says different is lying. Those huge women who say, "I like my size" are either self-deluded or mentally retarded. There's nothing fun about being fat. Your thighs rub up against each other. Your stomach rolls hold sweat. Crossing your legs becomes a challenge.

I remember when I was skinny. At nineteen years old, I had gotten down to 109. I was anorexic. I missed three periods and was always cold. No one knew I was anorexic. I didn't even know it until years later. I just knew my periods had stopped, and I was scared. I ate tons of food for a whole week, and my weight zoomed up to 115 and my period came back. I was relieved, and stopped dieting. My weight soared back to the high 130s.

It's amazing that if I don't work out or eat right, my weight stays around 140 pounds, which is a lot for my height. I was destined to be chubby, and I'm trying my hardest to go against my genes.