Sitting in the passenger side seat of your car again,
I could tell that we were different.
The silence felt comforting.
I found sanctuary in small talk.
Realizing that there are things that I can’t say any more.
Things I don’t even think I want to say anymore.
I’m beginning to see that maybe we weren’t as stable as I once thought.
Once hoped.
You switched the radio station so often that I could see your nerves bounce off your fingertips.
Dropping me off out front.
Watching me walk down the sidewalk to enter through the back.
Shouting out “I could have dropped you off there”
Or something along those lines.
Smiling back,
I hope don’t see the tears escaping my eyes.
Knowing you don’t look that closely anyway.
We’ve changed.

You asked me before we broke up what my favorite memory of us was, and I didn’t know which memory to pick. We’ve shared so many moments together that it’s difficult to pick just one sliver out of a hundred spectacular moments with you.

If I had to choose, it’d be whenever we would lay awake at night and just talk. Our legs intertwined. My head resting on your chest as you pulled me closer and closer in, so close that I could hear the symphony going on inside of you.

I know near the end of our relationship there was a patch where I wanted to sleep, and I really regret getting upset over that. When I have moments of loneliness, I think about those times the most.

Laughing, cuddling, hypotheticals, passionate ***... all of it. How your arms around me made me feel safe; like all my anxiety was pushed outside of that room. Sleeping next to you, I knew I’d be taken care of, whether that be from tornados or my own self-doubts.

I fear some nights because I know I’ll be alone in that big bed, and I know I won’t have you to text.

I won’t have you at all.

I  was packing up my room because I am getting ready for my big move to college life, when I came across an old journal. It was a little gem I left for myself to read; I was a little hesitant to read it, to be honest! The first entry is December 10, 2008. I describe how I am 12 years old girl, who has blondish brownish hair (of course I spelt brown with a d), and who has a good personality. Okay good start, nothing too crazy. I then go on for the next few pages describing my love for the book, wait for it, it’s actually a classic, “Twilight.” Yeah… I didn’t realize how much I loved that book back then. So anyways after I skim past the “Twilight” rants, I discover something that shocked me. It’s a page titled, “My Goals!” Awesome! What can a 12 year old girl possibly have goals for (being in twilight movie maybe?). I wish I could say it was something fun like that. Instead, 12 year old me, wrote
Lose Weight. (of course followed up with…)
Become a teacher.
Talk to Matt (with a line through it! good job little Dottie!)
Get a Job.
Read and see all series of “Twilight.” (nailed it!)
Become a singer.
Become a actor.
Why would a 12 year old have their first goal be to lose weight? I have always had issues with my weight, but reading that goal made me want to hug 12 year old me. I didn’t realize how much my problems with weight affected me until I saw that list. If I could go back and talk to 12 year old me it would go something like this,
“You are beautiful. You’re writing is far past your years. You have great friends who don’t look at your outer beauty but rather who you are on the inside. You are most definitely not fat, and losing weight should be the furthest thing from your mind! Now is the time to discover who you are! Love yourself more because you’re much more than weight.”

I still struggle with my weight, but I refuse to let it defy me. It shouldn’t defy you either. Eat healthier, make smart choices, and never give up. Don’t let yourself hold you back, let alone anyone else.

Packing things into brown boxes.
Concealed memories in a cardboard funeral.
Harboring dust like it’s a trophy.
Time ticks
               ticks
                     ticks
                           ticks away.
So much crammed into tight spaces.
Wrinkled and wrapped up just like it was placed.
The season on my face is fall.
Each tear swaying down like a fallen leaf.
Choking on how to say goodbye.
Adios.
Sayonara.
Au Revoir.
Aloha.

I wrap myself in sizes too big because that’s how I see myself.
For surely if they see me this big,
When I reveal my true self it won’t be as bad.
I smother my hips, stomach, shape because
I can’t get past the fact that I hate myself.
Looking in the mirror makes me cringe.
That’s what I look like?

Why can’t I wear cloths in my size?
Why am I afraid to go into changing rooms?
It makes me want to scream when I walk away from a store, that my friends, sister, mother bring me into, so I can find my style.
I will stick with this t-shirt that costed a dollar.

They think it’s easy for me to walk away.
They believe I am being over dramatic.
But I can’t walk into a changing room without worrying if I really fit into anything.
I don’t want to disappoint them when it turns out I’m too fat.
Even if I do fit…
My skin feels like it’s showing too much.
“Watch out for those massive arms dot.”
Right. Thank you.

When will I love myself again?
Writing this made me feel semigood again.
With prom coming up and all my friends wanting to look for dresses,
I am terrified.
Petrified.
Mortified.
Horrified.
Every word that ends with “-fied!”

I will not cry in another changing room.
I will not cry.
I will.

You’re stupid.
Wait, what did I do?
You’re stupid.
No I’m not!
You’re stupid.
I try my hardest every day.
You’re stupid.
Go away!!
You’re stupid.
I don’t believe you.
Really?*
No.

I feel like I am enclosed in a cage.
Being strangled by hate and rage.
My lungs are screaming
And I have really been meaning
To inform you that I am not who I was.

Fat. Pig. Whale. Huge.
These are just a few,
Of the words young men throw at me.
Who is the woman they want me to be?
I am told to be myself
Yet if I don’t conform to the ideal image I am disgusting.

I feel like people can never see me.
I will always be the weight that lingers around my soul.
I am being choked and poked and pulled.
I CAN’T EVER BE WHO I WANT TO!

Why are you staring at me like that?
Is it because I’m fat.
Fat.
F-A-T.
Three letters- one meaning.
A word that is so rooted to my soul
that its burning a hole.

Light me on fire
Watch me burn-
Away those extra calories!
At least I would look thinner.
Maybe then you’ll see me.
Maybe not.