"Good morning Grace," my mother greets me as I enter the kitchen.
"Morning mom," I stand by the counter, attempting to catch a glimpse of whatever she is cooking for breakfast. It doesn't smell like the typical eggs and bacon my dad usually makes, but it doesn't smell particularly bad either.
Pulling out a chair and sitting down, I quickly grab hold of the hem of my shirt that flies up when I move. I look to my mom hoping she didn't see, but of course she did. Her eyes are fixed on my hands grabbing the bottom of my shirt, attempting to keep it covering my stomach and back, her expression is unreadable but I can also detect some sort of emotion on her face. Embarrassment.
"When are you going to let me take you shopping?" She almost whines.
"I don't like shopping," I say like an overplayed record, looking down at my chubby hands that will never ever be those cute, dainty little things I always see on Tumblr.
"I know you don't," mom says in a disappointed tone. The thing is though, she isn't disappointed that I don't want to go, she's disappointed in me because I'm not who she wants as a daughter. I never have been, I've always been a disappointment in this family and it's really nothing new to me.
A few minutes of silence later, mom places my breakfast in front of me. I was right when I said it wasn't bacon and eggs, my appetite suppresses when I observe the plate of green before my eyes. This jelly-like thing sits on the plate in a small blob, it only takes up about a third of the plate set right in the middle. Its green tinge reminds me of bile which could be rising up my throat any second now.
"What is this?" I ask, disgusted.
"It's vegetable flavored tofu," my mom says.
"Tofu? Why are you giving me tofu for breakfast?"
"Because its good for you, really healthy. It's got much less fat and calories in it than bacon does. Plus its vegetarian." She adds.
"What the hell." I look at her, pushing my plate away from me.
"What now Grace? Stop being so spoiled." She crosses her arms, sighing.
"Are you serious? What now?" I raise my voice. I can feel the build up of emotion deep in my throat but I deny its access to show. She always does this, breaking me down yet blaming me when I react.
"Do you always want to be like this?" She asks.
"Like what mom?" I push her to say it.
"Like you are.." She says, staying away from the word fat.
That's the thing, she will hint at it and she will talk her way around it, but she will never outright call me fat. Sometimes I just wish she would because her hints hurt much worse, nor is she a plausible person.
"Have you ever thought maybe I like the way I am?" I ask, even though it's far from the truth. I definitely do not like the way I am or who I am, I would do absolutely anything to change myself.
"No you don't, nobody likes being that...constricted." She says, not realizing that no matter how much she talks her way around my weight, it still wounds me.
"I'm not eating this." I refuse. "This actually sucks."
"Your attitude sucks, now eat it or you'll go to school hungry." She demands, turning around to fill her mug with coffee.
"I'm not eating it, you can't make me." I'm aware of my childish act but in my defense, she is acting just the same way. I shouldn't have to eat this food that doesn't even look edible.
I should be able to eat what I want without the constant worry of being judged. And this is the very thing that leads me to over eating, that pressure to distance myself from food when my parents are around floods away when they aren't home. This makes me eat loads and loads of food in such a short period of time because I'm so terribly afraid they are going to come in and scold me for eating even just a piece of toast. Over time it takes a toll, I ignore that signal in my stomach telling me that I'm full. I eat and eat and eat until I'm ready to burst because Id rather have that disgustingly uncomfortable feeling of being too full than to be silently judged by my own family members. So while they're eating dinner together, I'm in my room punishing myself for, yet again, eating too much.
"Fine then, don't eat it. Get your backpack ready and get out to the bus stop or else you'll be late." She doesn't even turn around to talk to me. Without another word I get up, leaving the green mush behind me.
Five minutes later, I'm at the bus stop waiting for the yellow vehicle to bring me to the place I hate the most. It's not the learning I hate though, it's the judgement. Students, teachers, parents and everybody else judge me, Everybody except my art teacher, Mrs.Decker.
Mrs.Decker is a little old lady with curly hair and glasses that sit on her face, I look up to her, but theoretically of course because she's a foot shorter than me. She creates such beautiful masterpieces which someday I hope I will be able to do too. Art has always been my go-to stress reliever, I'd love to think I'm good at it but my insecurities get in the way of just about everything. Mrs.Decker tells me I have talent but most of the time I simply do not see it.
Hearing an engine roar brings me back to reality as I watch the bus pull up to the stop. I slowly make my way up those three massive steps that pretty much take my breath away from me. I cant help but think what all the other students are saying in their heads when I step on. Maybe something like "she shakes the whole bus!" Or "can she even make it down the aisle?"
I sit down in the seat, which I take all up, not leaving any room for anyone to accompany me. As we arrive at school 15 minutes later, those constant worries and insecurities hold me hostage. I wait until everyone is off the bus before exiting myself and making my way up to those dreaded school doors.
Once inside I try to stay as discreet as possible but just like I've mentioned before, 221 pounds doesn't go around unnoticed. I can feel the stares burning holes into me like lighters but I refuse to look. I keep my vision straight and my posture well enough to shoot them a perception telling them I do not care, even though I do. I care so much much more than I should. I care more than enough, which brings me to a point of utter mental and physical exhaustion.
After I get to my locker, I grab my stuff and head to my first class, biology. My grandpa made me take it, saying that if I want to learn every part of an animal or plant so I can correctly include them in my artwork, I need to take bio. I followed his instructions even though grade 12 biology is disgusting and confusing, but I'm trying my best because I don't want to be yet another disappointment to my family.
This class is spent just like all the others; long and hard to see. I am forced to sit at the back of the classroom because earlier in the year people actually complained that I was blocking their view. Meanwhile, even with my glasses I can't see anything exceeding a 6 foot range. The last thing I want to do is say something about it though, I can't draw more attention to myself than I already have. I don't have a voice in this school because everything about me is overlooked, well, everything except my appearance.
I think about the disgusting reality of someones looks meaning more than their personality and intellectuality, but then I realize I'm the exact same way. Not for other people, but for myself. Day after day I look in the mirror and literally feel like I'm going to puke. Everytime I take a step, I think about what I look like with all the excess weight on my body jiggling with me. I compare myself and my cellulite stricken body with things like a wrinkled bed sheet or waves in an ocean because I truly believe that's how I look. Although, the peace and serenity that come with those two things don't apply to me the least.
I'm just a modern twist on the old plain Jane saying, like movies that are remade from old fairy tales. Just add a few things and its a totally different story with the same title. So, in my case, the additives would be ugliness, glasses and an extra 221 pounds.
