Fat

You tell me: I'm five one and hundred and twenty pounds. Is that fat? I'm not sure.
I've struggled with my weight (like a lot of teenagers do, and a lot of teenagers don't, you just have to figure out what category you fall into) for my entire life. Or, scratch that. The entirety of my life that I remember, aka probably starting around the age of nine.
Around the age of nine, my mom said me down and outright told me: "You're overweight, you need to lose weight." And that's how it started. I remember not caring one minute and suddenly caring the next because what seemed to happen overnight was that everyone was staring at me, everyone was whispering and snickering and pointing at me the big lug. And after skinny best friends ditched me and new plumper friends took their places, I decided one thing: I'm tired of this shit. I'm going to be skinny.
I'm not anorexic, let's just get one thing straight. I've never been severely underweight and I've never resembled a skeleton in the least.
But I have been thinner, ninety nine pounds, five one. That's what I was after the summer of my "crash diet". Why I call it this instead of anorexia is because it wasn't a permanent thing. It was more like I was insane than had a eating disorder; a voice in my head, or maybe my own voice, constantly telling me: don't eat that... you'll get faaaatttt.... 
And so I didn't eat it. I didn't eat, at all actually, and I quickly dropped forty two pounds and became my slim-self that I remember so fondly.
I wasn't happy, though.
And... in that unhappiness I did some things I'm not proud of. I hurt some people, I hurt myself, maybe. And I feel like I should tell you this, because, to put it simply, no one knows my whole story.
I know in my introduction I said I was going to start out small and work my way up, but a defining characteristic of me is that I'm body conscious, and I think defining characteristics are important enough to put on this blog. They're simple enough things, right?
And this body consciousness doesn't make me special (or happy), because so many teens are looking down at themselves and feeling unhappy (and some aren't, granted, I don't want to leave anybody out), and because instead of food my anger filled my stomach.
It grew inside me like a tumor, getting bigger with every meal I skipped.
All the while, encouragement from my family and friends "You're looking good!" kept me going. This anger, though, still was silent. It kept itself silent from struggle that I had...
And I don't want to be dramatic. I'm probably rewriting history, over dramatizing things that shouldn't be over dramatized.
But I thought you should know that my body is one of my simple, defining characteristics that I wanted share with some body, before I forget it.
And today, why I'm talking about this, is one of my "wow, I'm feeling crappy" days where I reflect on the "shittiest" time periods in my life (which don't compare to some other people's "crappy" times, but I don't want to be in the business of comparison, so I'll shut up if you will).
Today I'm going to a Quinceanera. I don't want to go, I don't know the person that well, and I'm scared. I think I look fat in my dress and I think that I feel that unhappiness swelling again, that food-aching anger-building furiousness that lost me friends and gained me enemies.
I feel like this is going to be the worst night ever.
I hope not.
I'll let you guys know tomorrow. I'll rate it? Yeah! Rating it, on a scale of one to ten sounds good. Well, I hope you guys had a good Saturday. I got some clothes (by the way) at Forever 21! I hate it when my mom says "eh" though, instead of "You look so pretty in that!" I think it would make me feel a little better, but I'm not blaming her. I'm just putting her as a contribution to a sadness that I already had inside me.
Life sucks sometimes :(
But this too shall pass!

Caitlin's Quote of the Day: "May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past." - Irish Blessings