If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, then you can get a sense of my part series and where this is going. I’ve written about being the fat kid, being sick in high school, and accidentally losing weight. I’ve written about how, for the first time in my life, I felt pretty. 

And now, I have to write about how I lost that version of me. 

When I entered college, I wore every cute outfit I owned. Because of COVID, I only had classes two days a week, but that did not matter at all. If I were leaving the house, I would be dressing up. Cute sweater, nice jeans, curls in my hair, and maybe a ribbon or a headband if I felt confident enough. 

I wanted people to think I was approachable and nice. Maybe someone will sit next to me. Maybe I’d make a friend. 

When I started college, I was pretty small. Not in a dramatic, I’m-so-smol kind of way, just enough for people to mistake me for a high school student. One afternoon, I was walking from class to the train when a random lady began yelling at me to go back to school and that I should be ashamed to be outside of class. I just walked away because I was in no mood to correct her. 

Another time, I was riding the train home when a woman smiled at me and asked if I was excited for my first day of school. I didn’t correct her. I just smiled and said yes. Looking back, it was funny. 

If you read my blog, you will recall I did have a good first semester. But something started to change during winter. Nothing dramatic, but I felt my clothes feeling a bit tighter. I brushed it off. I mean, I can lose it again. I can fit into them once again. Maybe hit the gym? Maybe bloating? But you know I’m fine. 

As my classes got harder and the nursing entrance exam got closer, I started stressing more. I started eating differently. Here is something funny. In almost all four years in college, and we will get back to this, I did not drink coffee or any energy drinks until my second-to-last semester. I was raw dogging college. No caffeine, water, loud music, and delusion. And yet it worked. I survived all-nighters with nothing but anxiety and determination. Eventually though. Stress won. 

I started shopping at this little Japanese grocery store near campus, and at first, I’d buy one or two snacks. Maybe bread, a cracker, or cookies. One became two, two became three, and three became more. Then I’d eat while studying and take them home. I’d tell myself. It’s ok because they are healthier options. But that became almost every day, every week. Alongside a Pepsi can to encourage me to study more. 

We can move forward towards Korea. When I was in Korea, although it was the best time and I had lots of fun, I began to feel insecure. If you’re wondering whether I took many pictures of myself, sadly, I didn’t. I felt ugly, huge and every photo i took was of course of the city and every adventure. Minus me. I hated to look at myself in the mirror. 

Then, with the transfer of the schools, the food options somehow got worse. Now my options had narrowed to Shake Shack, Subway, Popeyes, McDonald’s, and other fast-food chains. My classes ended late, and after sitting through my lectures all evening, I would tell myself I deserved a treat. Just once. But this became a weekly thing when I had late classes. 

Then almost every week I was bringing snacks from Trader Joe’s because that was the healthier option. Then more snacks and more food. I wasn’t eating because I was hungry, but because I was overwhelmed and exhausted. It was a reward for surviving. 

My mom kept telling me to lose weight, and I would just push her comments away. I mean, I was walking, I was running to campus and the train. I was going upstairs, and how could I possibly be gaining weight? 

What I hadn’t noticed was that I slowly stopped looking at the mirror. I was avoiding mirrors. I stopped wearing fitted clothes. I had to dig deep into my closet for clothes that fit. Sweaters became my uniforms. Baggy shirts, bigger pants. And even with those signs, I didn’t stop and think once; maybe I was the issue. 

Then came my second-to-last semester. Again, one of the hardest ones. Research, presentations, papers, everything. At that point, my sibling had asked if I wanted to play Minecraft since it had been so long. But after long classes, what would keep me up? This led to my getting introduced to the Monster Energy drink. The black can, specifically. 

Oh, that first sip tasted amazing. I loved it. Suddenly, the caffeine made me hungry, so I ordered food. Late at night. I’d sneak it in. I didn’t want anyone seeing my sibling and me buying food with the side of monsters. 

And for my readers, I actually did try going to the gym. I really did. I paid every month, and my sibling and I would go together. But because they worked and came home around the same time, most machines were taken by others who had just gotten off work and were at the gym to do a little exercise. 

However in between my sibling being tired, my mother hated me going out at night, classes, internships, and more I stopped going. 

So I quit. I canceled my internship. But I said I would try going back. 

When my mom made me go to the doctor. Diabetes runs in my family. Fatty liver, heart issues, cholesterol, and stomach issues. She kept telling me I needed to get my blood work done just to see. I, of course, didn’t want to go. I already knew I had gained weight. I didn’t want to get that info from a medical professional, though. 

Then they weighed me. 218. I felt like I was going to faint. When i got my blood work done every was good exceopt two things. My cholesterol and my HbA1c. I have a 5.9. Pre diabetic. Diabetes starts around 6.5. I stared at that number and felt nauseated. No way. No. Not me. It’s all my fault. No one else, but like why. 

My doctor was not concerned but told me to change my eating habits. I changed a little. I stopped ordering out so much. I tried making better choices, but it wasn’t enough. 

Recheckup 5 months later. I gained two pounds, and my HbA1c had dropped to 5.6%. It dropped. Just not enough. 

Fast forward to now. Four months after graduating from college, I decided to step onto the scale again. I stepped, and there it was. 239 pounds. I stared at the number for a really long time. In four years, I gained 109 pounds. ONE HUNDRED AND NINE. When I write it down here, I don’t even feel real. I feel angry and disgusted. I did this to myself. 

Every oversized sweater, every pose I hide behind someone. Times I’ve taken pictures, except being in them. Every time I look away from a mirror. I wasn’t fooling anyone, not even myself. 

I hate saying it and admitting it. I don’t feel comfortable in my body anymore. I hate shopping for clothes. I hate squeezing into them. I hate comparing myself to my friends. When they invite me places a part of me gets excited another part faints and wants to die. Because all I can think about now is that they probably think about how big of a person I am. How much I keep getting bigger every time they see me. They won’t say it, but I know they think it. 

Maybe it’s my insecurity talking, but it goes through my head every single time. I’m done pretending. Not because I desire to be as skinny as Bella Hadid, but I want to be healthy again. I want to move freely in my body without thinking that everyone is staring at me. I want to be strong again. I want to smile again. I want to look in the mirror and be proud of it. 

Most importantly, I don’t want my future self to keep paying for the choices I’m making today. 

So here is my promise. By the end of the year, I want to lose at least 30 pounds. Not starvation, not crash diets, not because someone else made me do it. Me. This is for me. For the person who was fat their whole life. Labeled fat by their family. Known for being the fat person. For the person who keeps hiding and second-guessing themselves. To the woman I want to become.