I’m jolted from sleep by the painfully intrusive sound of the alarm clock. My heart sinks with the acknowledgement of being brought back to reality. My hand immediately goes to my stomach, and I feel its distention from the sweets eaten last night. I punch the off button on the clock and, fighting every fiber of my being that wishes to lay back down, slowly get out of bed. The mirror assaults me at once. My eyes can’t help but to analyze the reflected body before me: the love handles, the bulging belly, the rolls across my midsection that appear as I bend forward.

I’m so fat. The phrase plays over and over in my head.

Showering is bad enough, but dressing is the worst part; desperately searching for something that looks decent, angrily discarding outfit after outfit. This is too clingy. That’s so baggy it makes me look even bigger. My thighs are too fat for this. If only my stomach were smaller…

Facing the world is becoming more difficult each day.

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