"It's your fault you're fat."

Most of my childhood I was very skinny, healthy and athletic. Then two weeks after I turned ten, I developed type one diabetes. With type one, your pancreas no longer works, and you become insulin dependent. There is also a slight chance of developing Celiac Disease, which I did. You can also gain a lot of weight, which I did. And the Celiac made me swell up even more. 

In 7th grade, I was on my school's track team. One day at practice, one of my bullies looked me in the eyes and said, "It's your fault you're fat. You ate all that sugar."

It was true that I had gained a lot of weight, but just the way he said it made me want to go cry in a corner. That was the first time I ever really began to notice how I actually looked, and I've cared ever since.

"It's your fault," I tell myself every time I even look at sugary food, even though I am the "perfect" weight for my height, even though I have someone to hold me close every night who swears he loves me every single day, who has given me a beautiful child. I still believe that it's my fault that I developed type one diabetes, even though it had nothing to do with me personally; my pancreas just decided to stop working, and it hasn't in years. 

I doubt that my bully ever thinks about making this comment, but I hope he has grown up to realize that there are some things we simply cannot control, and I hope he uses that knowledge before he speaks of things he doesn't know.
 

"I hope to God I never have a kid like you."

When I was little, I had a lot of emotional problems and developed PTSD. Because of my anxiety disorder, I was very particular about things that literally didn't matter at all. 

One year on Christmas Eve when I was 6, I decided that the ginger bread house I had made with my uncle and cousin wasn't right, so I wanted to do it over again. This upset my uncle because we had spent hours on it and now I was persistent that we had to start over. 

After arguing with him for a while, I finally stormed off in a tantrum about the situation and went to the living room to cry and vent. A few minutes later he came over to me, and I hoped he would comfort me. Instead, he proceeded to tell me words that would stick with me forever. 

He said, "You acted like a brat!" He sighed and continued with, "and I hope to God I never have a kid like you." 

He was about 30 at the time and had his first child 5 years later. While he's never apologized to me for the incident, his son has problems of his own, and I like to think that he now regrets saying that to me all those years ago. 

Regardless, to this day we don't have much of a relationship, and I generally avoid spending Christmas with my extended family to avoid incidents like this.
 

"I wouldn't change a thing."

It was Indian Summer on the coast five years ago. I was in my boyfriend's room, sprawled on his bed, twisting his hair. He was pouring his heart out to me, telling me why he loved me so much. 

I have genetic health problems that leave me in pain and incapable of doing all the things we once did together. Our weekend hikes and our sunny days spent combing the beach for hours, searching for the best shells and rocks had diminished. Our time together was spent indoors, doing low impact activities, like watching movie after movie or drawing together. It affected my self-esteem and sense of worth, but also made me feel insecure about where our relationship would go if I couldn't do the fun things we loved to do anymore. 

I was watching the dust motes swirl in the sunlight coming through the window, listening with a heavy heart to his proclamations of love.

I said there were things I wished I could change, and told him my degenerative health was something I think both of us would change if we could. He turned and looked me dead in the eye, and said something I'll never forget. 

"The struggles you've experienced with your health might not be the funnest or anything, but they've made you the amazing person you are today."

I thought about how there's no telling who I'd be without these problems. 

He lifted my chin so I'd stare him in the eyes.

"Nothing. I wouldn't change a thing."
 

"That nose is unforgivable."

When I was in middle school, LiveJournal was very popular. There were these pages called Rating Communities, where people submitted photos of themselves to be rated, and the people who had already been admitted to the group voted yes or no on whether or not you were hot enough to then join the group to rate other people.

(Actually writing this for the first time makes me feel really sad for myself, because I realize now that it's such a pathetic and horrible premise. But as a shy preteen with a new digital camera, being accepted into one of these communities was all I wanted.)

The first time I got up the courage to submit my pictures, I was giddy with anticipation. 

Then soon, one by one, the "no's" flooded in. 

And the "nose." 

By that I mean, not only did people simply reject me, but many of them added comments, saying things like:

"That nose!!!"

"That girl needs rhinoplasty!"

"I would have said yes, but that nose is unforgivable."

Until then I had never realized that there was anything wrong with my nose. I had never really paid much attention to it. I actually think I kind of liked it. But after that, I hated my nose. For years. Every time I met someone new, I thought about them reacting to my nose. 

At the time, I thought that I got what I deserved. I believed it was my fault for putting myself out there, and that I was rightfully put in my place. How dare I try to join a beauty community with such a horrible nose?

But now, more than a decade later, I finally feel different. I don't fault myself for putting myself out there, because I was young and I was seeking validation.

When I look in the mirror, I am honest-to-god not bothered by my nose. I don't think I ever truly was, until insecure strangers on the internet who were also seeking validation told me I ought to be. The truth is, I don't really pay much attention to my nose. I actually think I kind of like it.
 

"You laugh so loud and strong."

I was laughing at something my sister said at the dinner table. My dad was in the kitchen and he gave me this disgusted look and said, "You laugh so loud and strong." 

He made it sound like such a terrible thing, so I thought that maybe my laugh must be annoying or something.
 
So now whenever something funny happens, I try really hard not to laugh, and I just kind of smile instead.
 

"I'm sick to death of you!"

I was maybe five years old, and my grandparents had been upset with me every day that summer. I still don't know why. 

I remember sitting on the couch and my grandfather was scolding me for something. 

He said, "I'm sick to death of you!" 

This not only made me feel horrible, but it scared me. As a little kid I thought, "I'm so bad, I'm going to kill my grandfather!" 

This has come up in therapy a few times.
 

The Girl I Became

After almost five years of dating this great guy, we went on a weeklong dream vacation together. Everything was going great, and I was kind of waiting for him to pop the question. 

Then the last day came, and we had been drinking.

In his drunk state, he told me, "I was going to ask you to marry me, but then I changed my mind."

I was heartbroken. 

Eight months later, we broke up. He told me that I just wasn't the same after we came back from vacation, and that he didn't love the girl I became. 

I don't think he ever understood that his heartbreaking words were what made me the girl I became. 
 

My First Halter Top

I've struggled with my weight for my entire 28 years of life. I've gone through phases of being very overweight to losing nearly 75 lbs at one point after college. But since the age of 13, I've never managed to be thinner than a size 12. I was constantly teased for being the 'fat girl' in school, but during the summer of my 13th year, I was actually beginning to feel more comfortable in my new, more womanly body. My weight had distributed more evenly to my breasts and butt, I'd grown into my extremely large head, and I'd developed a nice golden brown tan that year from spending a lot of time at the pool at summer camp. 

I remember first seeing the halter top on the rack at K-Mart. It was a cotton spandex material with a built-in bra, and the colors were a mix of neon pink, blue, purple, and green. It looked like tops I'd seen my skinny friends wear. All the colors met in a starburst on the front of the shirt then shot out with iridescent sparkles throughout. "This is a really cool shirt," I thought to my 13-year-old self and showed it to my mother. My mom had me try it on and said it looked nice on me and that it wasn't too revealing for my age. Happy to see my recent self-confidence, she bought it for me to wear on our upcoming family vacation to Myrtle Beach, SC.

I remember being very nervous to wear the shirt in public. As much as I liked it, I'd never exposed that much of my back and shoulders outside of wearing a bathing suit. Even then, I was often known to swim with a t-shirt covering my swimsuit. Didn't only skinny girls get to wear those kind of shirts in public? That's what I'd thought for so long and I was losing my nerve to put it on. As our vacation drew to a close, it was our last night at the beach and my mom encouraged me to put on my "new pretty shirt" for our last dinner out as a family. 

I got myself ready, pairing the shirt with a denim skirt, sandals, sparkly lipgloss, and a tiny bit of blush and mascara I borrowed from my mom. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "I actually look kind of normal!" I felt pretty. My tanned skin glowed golden brown and my light brown hair had lightened with the saltwater and sun. My dad also commented how grown up I looked in the shirt, wondering where his little girl had gone. 

We headed to dinner and I climbed into the back of our Ford Thunderbird. On our way to the restaurant, we drove down the Myrtle Beach strip. I sat behind my dad in the driver's seat and watched the cars come toward us on the opposite side of the road, some filled with families like ours and some filled with obnoxious college kids on summer vacation, drunkenly dancing in the car. 

We ended up sitting in slow moving traffic for some time. I looked to my left and saw a handsome young blonde guy, driving a black pickup truck, coming toward us. His friend was in the truck with him and as our car passed his, I looked up at him. Our eyes met for just a second and my first instinct was to smile at him. 

I smiled at a cute guy in my new halter top, full of confidence. A woman unleashed. 
But what happened next would shape the way I felt about myself, and how I thought men viewed me, for quite some time after. 

When I smiled at him, he looked down at me from his truck, and even though our windows were rolled up to preserve the air conditioning, I watched him mouth these exact words down at me, "Don't you smile at me, you fat bitch!"

As he drove away, laughing with his friend, I felt so exposed and wanted to be wearing anything but my new halter top. 

My parents were deep in conversation and had not seen the boy make fun of me, and I was too embarrassed to bring it to their attention. 

As we pulled up to the restaurant, I didn't want to get out of the car. I spent all of dinner upset, barely touching my food, and self conscious that everyone was staring at the fat girl in the shirt she shouldn't be wearing.

It would be several years before I had the courage to wear another halter top or something similar in public. The shirt I once loved so much, laid shining in the bottom of my dresser, until one day I finally threw it out. All because some stupid college guy on vacation decided to make fun of a 13-year-old girl coming into her own. 

To this day, I think of him when I wear something that makes my upper body feel exposed.
 

"My heart broke for you."

I was 19 years old, and I had completely broken down. Again. The world around me that I thought I knew was crumbling to pieces. 

"You're worthless. You're good for nothing. You're worthless." 

These words rang over and over through my empty mind. 

I had just begun my third semester in college, and in every class, I found myself writing my suicide letter. The date would be the anniversary of my dad's suicide. Halloween. Might as well make it dramatic. 

The week before Halloween, I showed a therapist my letter. I convinced him that I wasn't serious. That it was all a joke.

He let me walk out in this state. 

When Halloween came, I got drunk. I ran up this street, with no shoes, no jacket, no dignity. Three cops stopped and asked me what I was doing, if I'd come off my meds, if I needed to go to the hospital. I walked away. 

A woman got out of her car and asked me if I was all right, asked if I wanted food. I ran away. I was shaking, sweating, biting back my last tears. In my mind, I wasn't allowed to cry. This was what I deserved. 

I started to walk out in front of a car. 

The car came to a stop, and someone got out. It was the same lady from before. She rushed out of the car, threw her jacket on me, and held me as a cried. 

She said, "When I saw you, my heart broke for you." 

She gave me new life. 

She gave me a seed of hope to plant. 

Today, I am 22 years old. After various hospital stays, various treatments, I am still on the path to recovery.

To this very day, I still hold her words close to my heart. Every time I dream about ending the suffering I endure every day, I envision that angel who saved me. 

I remember her holding me as I cried. 

I remember how truly promising life can be even when the room is dim.
 

"Damn waterfall!"

I feel this story is a little silly, but it did really affect me when it happened.

I've dealt with bullying from preschool straight through high school. By my sophomore year, I thought I'd convinced myself that nothing else could hurt me, that I've heard it all.

I was in a club meeting after school and I wasn't really feeling it. I stepped out to use the bathroom. 

The halls were quiet and the bathroom was empty. Then some girls came in after I started going, and one of them yelled, "Damn waterfall!" The girls laughed loudly and left.

I didn't see them, and they didn't see me, but it really bothered me for some reason. 

I've had a very shy bladder for about 5 years after. 

It's the same feeling people get when they're eating chips, like they're chewing too loudly, even if it's not actually bothering anyone.