I had to be skinny. I had to be beautiful. To me skinny was beautiful. When I spotted the vintage, pink halter dress in the display window . . . I had to get it. I had to prove to everyone that I could pull off wearing something like that. I was worth the dress and I was worth being beautiful.
Since childhood, I was always chubby. My thigh looked like a chicken drumstick and my sister would constantly poke at it. "Jelly belly" she called me, "BIG BRIDGET!" These were just a few of the cruel names that I was taunted by. The minute that I stepped foot on the playground, I was bullied. Kids would throw rocks at my fat to see whether it would bounce off. They rolled balls past me and told me to "go and chase after my family." To them, I was nothing more than a game -- I was just a joke. They were amused by me and paid me all the attention in the world. The silly and clueless girl that I was, I actually believed that I was popular. I took their cruel, verbal bullying as nothing more than fun and games.
I was rarely phased by their taunting back then. My confidence soared above my head like a halo. I knew that I was beautiful and smart. So, often I laughed along and poked fun at myself. But by middle school, everything had changed. I thought I was so popular that I could hang out with anyone I wanted. To my surprise, I was rejected by everyone -- including my so called "popular" friends. I came to the shocking realization that these people were never my friends. I was simply a jester to the Queen Bee who mercilessly teased me. Her words burnt more than the rest. I no longer felt beautiful. Instead, I felt like the fat and ugly person that I was. I believed that I was an atrocious monster who would never belong. Everyone had singled me out -- everyone except my best friend, my confidant Holly.
Holly helped me through the thick and the thin. She told me that I was a wonderful, intelligent girl who did not need to rely on compliments to get by. But she never said that I was beautiful. She gave me every compliment on the world except the one that I actually needed to hear. Holly was blessed with the gift of having a high metabolism. She could scarf down steaks without having to worry about gaining weight. Oh, how lucky she was! I envied Holly's body -- the girl looked like a model! Holly belonged on magazine covers whereas I would have been the large muscular man who towered over her.
I knew that I had to find a way to lose weight. However, I HATED exercising and I was never an athletic girl. My mother was the goddess of all diets, having been able to lose weight at any time through any diet. One day I mustered up the courage to ask her which diet she would recommend for me. "None," she answered, "I don't want you to go on ANY diet. You are beautiful, Bridget. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." But mothers have to say that, it's in the unwritten 'mom code.' So, I devised a plan.
At first I began going to the gym after school on a regular basis. I lied to my mother by telling her that I joined an after school club. She fell for it quite easily. This became my routine for 2 weeks. The gym had a simple plan to follow and I began exercising immediately. I was motivated and focused on achieving my goal of losing just 25 pounds. But after two weeks of lengthy training, I had only lost 3 pounds. It did not make a difference. Then I took a different approach to my plan. The easiest way to gain weight is through eating. To lose weight, I simply had to eat less. At first I cut back on my lunch. Instead of consuming the fat from fast food restaurants, I opted for a salad without dressing. A few weeks later, I successfully lost another three pounds! Hm. Three pounds for eating a salad at lunch . . . imagine how much more I could lose if I ate a smaller breakfast and dinner!
However, there was a problem. A large barrier was preventing me from achieving my goal -- my mother. She cooked breakfast in the morning and I usually ate a waffle smothered in maple syrup. I HAD to cut back. I told my mother that I no longer liked waffles, I was tired of eating the same foods. I ate sliced apples instead. Then came dinner -- the largest meal of my day. My mother worked a night shift. I knew that I could get anything past my foolish father. I told him that I wanted to eat my dinner in my room because I had a lot of homework. "Alright sweetie," he agreed. Every night I dumped my dinner into a large, black garbage bag. Since it was my chore to take out the garbage, I trashed my dinner as well. Then I happily ate a rice cake and swallowed a laxative. I shed 10 pounds in less than a month.
Nonetheless, I was still fat. Heck no, I was a balloon. I needed to be skinny. What was wrong with me? Why was I such an idiot? Idiot? I could solve any equation, yet I couldn't figure out how to count calories? UGH! My dream was to become a news reporter. But you don't see fat people on TV. The media loves skinny girls and they hate the fat ones. They all hate me. I began jogging every morning, 30 minutes around town. One day on my jogging spree, I saw my goal neatly hanging by a boutique window. It was as if the dress was teasing me, quietly whispering "Haha. You'll NEVER have me." Or maybe my imagination was going wild and this was a voice in my head. I had to buy it. I dashed into the store to try it on. The saleswoman said that I looked like a "petite princess" in the gown. But salespeople will say anything to get you to buy something. I didn't believe a word she said. I was fat in the dress. Everything was hanging out. I felt pathetic and I knew that I needed to lose more weight. The store kindly agreed to hold the dress for me for 2 weeks. I had just two weeks to become beautiful. I focused all of my time and energy in calculating how I would possibly consume less calories. Keep in mind that I was eating only 500 calories a day: an apple, a rice cake, a glass of water and a laxative. I lessened my meal to five grapes.
My mother claimed that I was acting like a lunatic. MOTHER, SHUT UP. My father said that he didn't know teenage girls could be so hormonal. CORK IT, FATHER!! My sister said I resembled the skeletal socialite Nicole Riche. AWE, THANKS SIS. Even Holly was beginning to get on my nerves. I told Holly that I was trying out a new look. IT DIDN'T MATTER WHAT THEY SAID, *I* KNEW THAT I WAS ON THE RIGHT TRACK. Then, I was approached by the Queen Bee of the school -- Nicole who told me I was "pretty" and "couldn't wait to see what I'd look like at prom." That day also marked the last chance I had to buy the dress. I immediately went to the store and purchased my trophy.
To be continued . . .
holiday50
Author's Note: Stay tuned for Part 2 next week!
