I am in desperate need of some new clothes. I could use a ton of leggings, maybe two pairs of jeans, some sweaters, and, of course, quirky tops that cover the huge mass between my boobs and my, well, you know.
I need clothes for work. I need clothes for school. I need clothes for dates with Bryan. I need clothes for cocktails with friends.
I have full shopping bags at Old Navy, Torrid, and Forever 21 +…but I can’t bring myself to checkout.
It’s not that I don’t have the money. I mean, of course money is always an issue but it’s not about that this time. It’s about the fact that I don’t want to buy plus size clothes anymore. I don’t want to strategically select tops that will make it hard for strangers to tell whether I’m pregnant or just fat. I don’t want to keep being disappointed by the fact that none of the dresses I like come in my size. I don’t want to cry when I discover that the XXL tights I’ve just purchased won’t go over my knees. But most of all, I don’t want this body anymore.
Someone once told me you have to dress for the size you are, not the size you want to be. I always tried to follow this advice, especially as my waistline and my compulsive eating disorder grew.
In the past two months, I’ve lost six pounds. While I know what an accomplishment this is, I can’t help but be angry at the fact that I don’t feel or see a difference.
I also can’t help the fact that my heart breaks whenever my SOUL squad wants to take a photo – knowing that whoever sees it, knows I’m the one that shouldn’t be in this picture. I can’t help avoiding the mirror. I can’t help crying on the scale. I can’t help hating myself.
And I don’t want to. I really want not just to like myself again, but to love myself. And I feel like if I buy new clothes, it’s like agreeing to stay in this body a little longer. I know that’s not reality and that I’m making changes, but I don’t know how to go outside anymore.
I need new clothes, and all I have is a closet full of bad memories from a person I don’t want to be anymore.