I've battled with my weight my entire life. As far back as I can recall, I've been what I consider "a fat kid." The entire time I've thought that, the people I love, the people I've surrounded myself with, have been encouraging me to think differently. To think I'm normal, or at least, not fat. I've never believed them. I've always thought "you're only saying that because you don't know how else to make me feel better." I've always known that sure, I'm not on the extreme end of the scale, but I'm sure as hell not skinny, either.

I can remember very distinct points in time in my life, where weight has been an issue. I remember when I was in fifth grade, and a kid called me "fatso" on the playground. I tried to talk to my teacher about it, but they told me "you're not fat. You're healthy."

I remember in sixth grade, when I had to buy a pair of "Husky" jeans, because the regular ones didn't come in my size anymore. I'm not fat, I'm "husky."

I remember the first time I heard "You're not my type." I remember the first time I heard "I don't see you that way." I remember the first time I heard "What made you think you even had a chance?"

I'm not a depressed person. I'm not overly focused on my outward appearance. I'm not one of those people who needs the approval of everyone else, and kills themself to look the way the people in magazines look. But I'd be lying if I said that it didn't hurt me just a little when I see people all around me who treat themselves like shit, and somehow maintain that look. They never go to the gym. They eat like hell. And yet, they manage to have a 32 inch waist nonetheless. I realize its genetics. It still fucking hurts the fat kid trapped inside my somewhat overweight body. It still makes me feel like I've done something wrong.

So I'm doing something about it.