"Big"

When I was in high school I wasn't attractive. I had fuzzy hair and acne. I had a pension for Marilyn Manson and black eyeliner. I wasn't trendy or popular. I didn't get asked out. I had average grades and excelled at seemingly nothing except science.

There were two stoner girls I always worked with in class. They were slim and pretty and nice enough. They liked me because I knew the answers and came up with the most interesting projects.

One day as I was walking into school I overheard them talking about me to someone in my class that, unsurprisingly, didn't know my name. They described me with the usual descriptors I was used to: fuzzy hair, goth.

But then they added in one that was new: big.

I took it to heart because it was a new jab, a new problem.

I confronted them later, and they explained that they meant no harm, as I am nearly 6 feet tall.

But my life from that point on revolved around my weight.

I ate 600 calories a day and worked out 3 hours a day for nearly 4 years. I spent the entirety of my adult life struggling with my weight.

I'm 30 now. I've been in and out of treatment. I don't know if I'll ever be all right with myself.