Would I sound juvenile if I admitted that I am thoroughly confused?

A long time ago I used to weigh 175 pounds. I was about 17.

And back then, I used to pick myself to pieces because according to a chart somewhere

I was supposed to weigh 150 for my height-

I was desperate.

I starved.

I threw things up.

I ate a lot and then a little and then not at all.

Never got there, and absolutely hated myself.

When I was 21, I weighed about 200 pounds.

I used to look back at those pictures of me at 17 and think,

Damn

I looked really good then, and I was so skinny!

For a while I stopped caring about it.

I had a boyfriend and a secret boyfriend

I ended up with a husband and a child

And no one seemed to mind about my weight

Outloud

Except the voice screaming in my head

Telling me something is wrong with you.

Before I got divorced, I was looming at about 230.

My husband was a twig and a cheater so I just knew

He cheated because I was fat.

So I pushed myself with exercise, all day everyday

Because I was super slim for my height when I weighed 200 pounds.

I lost all the weight

And then lost him

And then lost everything

And then found beer again

And cake and remembered how much I loved them more than I loved myself.

What you say you are, you are.

The confusing part is that never when I looked a certain way did I say I’m ok where I am.

I always looked longingly forward to a future size or lovingly backward to a previous one.

And again the cycle of disgust is upon me

My ex said something about me being fat in an argument once,

And I think that is when I tried to hit him with my car.

I am what he thinks I am?

All my friends ever talk about is going to the gym now

Oh I lost a few pounds, I’m running 5000 miles a day, look at me

But what I hear is,

You still drink beer? You don’t Zumba every afternoon? Don’t you feel like Gelatin?

And I feel displaced again because I’m no where near the svelte creature I was in 2002.

So I can do what I normally do and stare at the mirror wishing to be

A little bit smaller

Because I want this person or that person to love me.

Tell me you love me! Please!

Or I could love me. Right now. Just like this.

No, according to some chart somewhere I am not the healthiest weight that I have ever been

But not for nothing doesn’t it count that I feel good?

That I have a purpose?

That I am happy?

And If I am not satisfied now, when will I ever be?

When I’m 56? 65? 83?

When I’m 199, 167, 142?

So confused.

Don’t look at anyone else, don’t try to be anyone else, that’s what my heart says.

You’re special, you’re unique you are perfect, is what is taped to my vanity,

But everyone else is dumb

And thinks Im fat.

Don’t they?

Haven’t they always?

Aren’t they whispering about how much better than me they are because they never wore plus sized clothes?

The pressures of high school don’t seem to have subsided

And I punish myself with pictures of me from a decade ago

I should have loved her then.

Is there a pill somewhere that I can take,

So that I can simply feel good about myself for one day?