Editor’s Note: The following article contains discussions of eating disorders and self-harm. 

Walking down the halls of my middle school, I was 12 years old wearing a “Wizards of Waverly Place” t-shirt and jeggings. I walked into my morning English class and was greeted by my bully who said, “Do you know you look like that and chose to wear skinny jeans?”

Almost 10 years later, this memory is still ingrained in my head. It isn’t the worst thing that’s been said to me by far, but it was the first comment so it stuck with me.

Disgusting. Disappointment. Ugly. Worthless. Whale. “Does she not notice what she looks like?” These are all things that have been said to me since middle school.

At a weight that I try to ignore – and don’t tell anyone – I have been made fun of, ridiculed and treated as less than a person for the way I look. While I’m not in a weight range that affects my health, my weight affects everything else in my life.

My weight makes me feel inferior to everyone around me. Like I have some sort of disadvantage because I weigh more. There are many times when I didn’t try out for positions or roles because I thought I would be judged on my looks.

It may not seem like the end of the world to someone who has always been “skinny,” but it is to me. It might not seem like I am overweight, but because I’m taller, the fat gets distributed out more proportionately. I’ve struggled with disordered eating since I was 11, and everybody around me reminds me of it.

For instance, I’m a sweetheart for a fraternity on campus, and during one of the rush events, one of the students who was there to consider rushing asked the brothers, “Why did you pick a sweetheart who’s so fat?”

The brothers defended me and ultimately the guy dropped from the rush process, but it feels like I’ll never escape this no matter what.

I can’t go out to eat or eat at home around people unless I trust them. For instance, finishing the food on my plate earns me a, “You ate all of that?” I will never understand why someone would say this or the number of times it has been said to me.

I don’t want to be this way, but sometimes it just seems impossible to be anything else. I’ve tried every diet there is: Keto, Weight Watchers, Atkins – or even not eating at all. I’ve tried different workouts from cardio to lifting to swimming to Zumba. Nothing works.

Liposuction isn’t an option for me — it’s too expensive. Some dark part of my mind thought if I took a knife to my stomach or any other part of me I don’t like, a doctor would have to finish it for me.

Granted, I never did this, but the thought crossed my mind. With diet culture and fatphobia running rampant throughout the country, of course it would infect young minds.

I would never, ever blame her for this, but my mom’s constant dieting and working out definitely affected my mindset toward weight. She would ask if I wanted to try it with her, never forced, but would ask if I would like to try the diet or workout with her.

She always commented negatively on her appearance. She’s always been beautiful, and I think she looks amazing, but she never does. I know I should think this way about myself if I can think this way about others, but my mind doesn’t allow me to do so.

It’s not just the fact that I’m overweight. It’s how people treat me in spite of it. The comments men have made toward me to make themselves look good, but have underlying tones that are insurmountable.

“I love how you look in spite of your weight.”

“Can you introduce me to your friend?”

“No, I was talking about the pretty one.”

“You’re the first big girl who didn’t want to give me head.”

Pretty and fat are not mutually exclusive. You can be pretty and overweight, you can be ugly and skinny, and so on. Who’s to judge that having some extra meat on your bones means you’re automatically ineligible for receiving love?

College students are more vulnerable to eating disorders than anyone else due to being on their own for the first time, unlimited access to food in the dining halls and abnormal class schedules that disrupt eating patterns.

There are unspoken rules to being the fat friend. Don’t look too good. Don’t ask for too much. Don’t speak up for yourself. Don’t feel bad for yourself. You made yourself this way.

If everyone tells me it’s my fault, it must be, right? I will never understand people who feel the need to comment on things that have absolutely nothing to do with them.

I remember I was in better shape my freshman year of college because I had to walk everywhere, and I wasn’t eating that much because I would be exhausted or nauseous from walking too much.

People treated me better even at this slight weight decrease. They commented on how much better I look and would tell me I did a “good job.” My dad posted a photo of us when my parents came up for the weekend and his sister commented “whatever I was doing was working,” and to send her what routine I used.

I’ll always be pretty enough for hookups but not for relationships. I saw a post on TikTok with this excerpt:

“Being pretty enough to text at 1 a.m. but not pretty enough to say good morning to. Being pretty enough to come over and chill but not pretty enough to go out with. Being pretty enough to be in bed with but not pretty enough to show your friends. Being pretty enough to f*ck but not pretty enough to date is getting really exhausting.”

This will forever resonate with me due to how close it hits home. I’ve only been in one real relationship that lasted about a month. I don’t feel like anything will ever get better in this regard.

Obviously there are different methods I could try, but right now it feels hopeless. I can’t change how other people view me or what they say to me. It’s hard, but I can try to not let it affect me — but that just isn’t in the cards for me.

Kaitlyn Finchler is a campus editor. Contact her at [email protected].