Thursday, March 14, 2013

it hurts so bad sometimes

My sister just told me that right after I left for college my brother used to tell her that she needed to make sure she went to the gym so she didn't end up like Mallory. By like Mallory he meant fat. Kirby was a pudgy little kid. She wasn't fat, but she wasn't skinny. Puberty, sweat, and pressure from a lot of people did what most of us would call wonderful things to her body. I think she's stunning. I also know that while I'm biased on that, it's also the absolute truth. She worked hard and the extra inches she gained in the height department I'm consistently jealous of worked WONDERS. Kirby is beautiful on the inside and the outside.

I find it ironic that I'm crying as I write this post considering how I celebrated a small accomplishment diametrically opposed to this conversation in my post yesterday. I also find it especially heartbreaking and hurtful considering that after Michael came back from his awful study abroad experience in China with an extra fifty-ish pounds packed on his body, I was the one to defend him to a lot of people. I've spent years on the receiving end of those god-awful comments. I would not wish that experience on anyone, including my (occasional) jerk of a brother, and yet that is clearly not a two way street.

I know I'm not perfect, but I am a good person. I work hard, love big, am loyal to a fault, and so sincerely enjoy being my friends' biggest cheerleader, but I'm the person my own sister is warned away from being similar to. I am the person she needed to watch herself around so she didn't end up like me.

You know, because what I've got is contagious. And, because we all know that being a fat person is clearly a worse fate than being a bad person. Clearly.

And the people who know me wonder why I'm in therapy...? Some days are good days, and some days just really suck.


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