Love Is Soft

Chapter 1 - Stupid

(A/N: Hello! This story explores themes surrounding abuse and mental illnesses. CW for detailed descriptions of eating disorder behaviors and thoughts, internalized fatphobia, self injury, and suicidal ideation. Let me know if you like it so far!)

It was age five when she started to do body checks.

It was stupid, some dumb little comment made by a stupid girl I liked at the time in the stupid kindergarten. My dream-kindergarten-sweetheart called me “belly” instead of Bella and the whole gaggle of girls on the playground laughed. It was only a brief moment, and clearly an accident. The laugher, surely, was to recognize the blunder that was not done of malice. The girls laughed, and simply moved on. My face flushed red with embarrassment, and I skipped lunch that day to cry in the bathroom.

I pinched my stomach, chubby little hands realizing for the first time in my young life that other people could see and were aware of my body. I didn’t like that.

Skipping meals didn’t become a more regular thing until middle school. All of a sudden we were crammed naked into gym locking rooms, forced into bathing suits for first period swim class. I was forced to flaunt this body that was becoming so alien to me, my chest suddenly sprouting size-D boobs, my body suddenly like to holding onto fat. I felt disgusting, to say the least.

At worst I shared that class with Aniah Yousef. Aniah Yousef.

She was the kind of girl who would be the love interest in one of those dumb rom-coms. She wore yellow, which went well with her dark complexion. Aniah had muscles of bronze as though she were already an Olympic athlete, with musical talent to boot. She playing flute in the concert band, but had already been in lessons for years, and had made it to first chair already as a result. Her voice was like honey, and her hair was kept beautifully as an afro; except for this year where I imagined she put it into dreads for swim class.

She was nice. She was pretty. She was thin. And I stupid awkward pubescent girl was placed next to her in this stupid swimming class so she could look at my fat unbecoming body every day. It was hell. That year was my first brush with starving myself, not that I was any good at it. I would skip breakfast and lunch only to binge eat when I got home, almost routinely.

No matter what I tried, every year I seemed to gain weight. I wasn’t overweight, but I wasn’t thin. Even when I did Softball my freshman year of high school I only ever gained weight, and as I gained weight it only got harder to meet my eye in the mirror. I just felt so, so, idiotic.

In this sea of beautiful high school girls I wasn’t even the cute kind of nerdy. I was lonely, depressed, and tucked away in the corner of a library because I was too anxious to carry on a conversation with anybody. I know reasonably that nobody really cared enough about me to have an opinion on my body besides a passing glance, but I told myself it was because of my weight. If I wasn’t such a lazy lard-ass who didn’t stuff their faces every day, maybe people would like me. I told it to myself and drew it on my thighs in pen sometimes before I went to bed.

Super dramatic, I know. I’ve never not hated myself for as long as I can remember. As dumb as I know it is, sometimes I do things to myself just because I know it will hurt me.

I’ve never been special, never been unique. I’ve just been the not-beautiful-not-ugly pale-ass Latina in the background who wishes she could be thin but doesn’t have the willpower to stick to any diet; and trust me, I’ve tried every diet.

I’m a second year in college now. My major is undecided, which fits honestly. My roommate was pretty nice, but she and I haven’t really spoken since she moved out at the start of the year. I keep to myself in my room, never really leaving, so I haven’t met anyone else. Not much changed for me when the pandemic hit, honestly. I’ve always been kind of a shut-in.

Well, about my in person habits anyway.
My eating has gotten out of control.

When quarantine hit back in March, I don’t know, something snapped. All of a sudden I couldn’t keep my hands off of every food I feel guilty about eating. Burgers, fries. Jars of peanut butter late at night, eaten with my hands from the jar. Shirtless.

With no one in my room to judge my eating habits, I just gorged myself. It also didn’t help that our dining hall was trying to rid of mass amounts of food in response to the sudden lack of students, so I was able to get ludicrous amounts of food for a single meal punch.

I don’t know how much weight I gained in quarantine. It’s August, now. The fascist is still in office, and the world is on fire. My respect for myself is at an all time low. I don’t know how much I weigh. What I know is my mom is going to throw a tantrum next time she sees me, I’ve kind of blown up. I must have gained at least 20 pounds, and it makes me want to cry knowing how much of a failure she’s going to see me as.

The weirdest part, and the thing I’m most ashamed to admit, it that there is this sick part of me that kind of likes it. You see, to my dismay, I’ve kind of got a thing for weight gain. Specifically feederism. I’ve always had this fantasy of being super fat, despite also hating my size deeply. It’s a huge problem for me, and something I’ll never admit to anybody. One thing I do know is that it’s... stopped me from making changes up until now.

I don’t know. It’s dumb, but in this stupid hell year sexual pleasure is basically all I have. And especially since I don’t have to see people, it’s just been super nice pigging out alone in my room and knowing no one is going to have to see my body.

Except for me. I have to see my stupid, fat ugly body. Every day.

I hate my fat ass thighs, and my chubby cheeks. I hate the way my hips poke at the sides of my shirt- not quite yet making the shirt unwearable- but just enough to remind me of what an insipid, undisciplined girl I am. I hate all of it, but it also turns me on. I hate my fucking hell brain.

I’m tired of hating myself. I’m tired of feeling like a lazy, undisciplined slob. I’m tired of watching myself get bigger and letting the world know with my size how little I respect myself.

I’m losing this fucking quarantine weight of it kills me, and at this point I almost I hope it does.