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con panna with sugar-free whipped cream, please.

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   --------(_/------(_<_/--\_)--------hjw

what do i do when i hate myself so much i can't be the person you need? there's no manual for this—hating my own exterior so much, coming up at various points in my life unexpectedly. this time, i feel like i'm not the woman you deserve to be with. i cover myself up for the majority of time we lay in bed together, a blanket all the way up to my eyes; i hate that i'm not the body you deserve. you deserve a woman whose belly doesn't overhang on her thighs, who has a flat runway for you to gaze down when going down on me; you deserve someone who doesn't have to shop online because she's plus-sized. you deserve someone who's small and tiny, someone so unlike me. how do i stop feeling like my body is something undeserving of love?


can you feel it? the heat of my hatred when you hold parts of my body? can you tell when i'm putting physical distance between my body and yours so you don't feel the folds of my fat laying against your stomach? or my hand so i can feel where my belly ends and yours begins? can you hear me cry in the other room as i tend to my wounds, a rash that has occurred yet again because i had the audacity of trying to work out while fat? because i'm damned if i do, damned if i don't, and now i have the addition of feeling guilty—this part is the newness i feel in being with you—for wanting to end all of this pain, to start over in a body that i didn't neglect, start over in one where i didn't have a stark disadvantage in both my genes and my diet until i moved out of my parents' house. i promise i'm not making excuses, i only want you to know—


who do i blame? all that's left is me


pour another?

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