Allison Kimmey had said that Nobody is fat. We all have it. Some just a bit more than others.

But me. I have too much. Im tired of looking in the mirror trying to convince myself that I am beautiful. How can I just stand there and lie to myself while I'm terrified of my reflection.

Pictures. Doesn't everybody have some. My pictures are aweful. They deserve to be thrown in the firey pitts of dispair.
Dispair. I have so much. It fills my body to the brim and flows out by my feet. Filling the room slowly as I drown in my own saddness.

Self esteem. Everybody has it. Except me. My self esteem has plumitted to its grave so long ago. When those pretty girls called me ugly. When that cool boy called me fat. Everytime I had to look at the size tag on my shirt and it read extralarge. Because I'm just and extralarge girl arnt I.

And just because I have accepted I'm fat doesnt mean it still doeasnt hurt. Just as a man who has accepted he will die still feels that cold running through his veins as if frost were replacing the blood that was spilling out on the pavement.

Every heavy step I make gives a thud sound reminding me of my wieght. Reminding me of the truth.

Hearts. Mine is sick. My heart bears too much. Now let's forget about the heart conditions it holds for a second. And look a bit deeper. Past the scars it holds from judgment too. Past the open wounds from everytime I've lied to myself. Everytime my friends lied to me. Let's go into the deepest darkest place in my heart. The core. Where it's the pride there. You know. The only thing keeping my heart beating. The pride in myself. Though very little, I still have just a bit left.

It tells me to cut. Because only the weak give up. Only the weak die. And I am not weak. I am fat, I am ugly, I am hurt. But I am not weak. Therefore I live. Maybe not the way people want me to. Maybe the scars on my leg and wrist are as ugly as me. But that's okay. Because I'm still alive.

The dispair I'm drowning in is still there, but I found an air bubble of hope. And it won't last me long. I know that. But I have the hope now. Just because of my pride telling me I am not weak. And that is why I live.

But then, the deppression that I thought I had deafeted saw me. And it said that it was never gone. It was always there. And it reminded me that I don't know how to be happy. I've been this way my whole life. It tells me that I don't know how to smile on my own. I fake a smile whenever I know I'm supposed to be happy. When I'm supposed to laugh. I hide behind the mask I made. Because I am afraid. I don't know how to smile. How to laugh. I have to fake it all and it kills me on the inside.

What is happiness. I wouldn't know. Because I am taking my last breath before I'm lost in my dispaire again. The hope is gone and my pride is crushed. What is left to keep my heart beating now?

Lies. The lies I tell myself everytime I have to look at that disgusting thing in the mirror. This is my lie.

"No one is fat. They just have fat. Some more than others."

This is how I'm dead. All emotion drained once again. It floated away as I sank deeper into my dispaire.