πŸ’©

i have a problem.

i thought I was better, happy and free happy from worrying about food. 

but somehow, it always finds its way back to me, sometimes subtly sometimes intensely.

 i am still conscious about the amount space i occupy, the way my shorts ride up when I run, when my butt feels warm sitting in the lecture theatre, how my arm flabs when I erase my work or wave my hands, the roundness of my face in photos and how easily my double chin appears. I feel uneasy when I don’t exercise for the whole week or give in to my urges to eat unhealthy packaged food.

i am not fat, i know and acknowledge that. it’s confusing. i feel like I’m morbidly obese whilst knowing I’m not fat at the same time. 

i have never really loved myself, and I guess I’ve never really felt loved by anyone else. πŸ˜•

i hope I’m being a dramatic teenager.

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