Letter #100

Content Warnings: disordered eating, depression, self-deprecation, body shame


I’m Dead.

But I’m still breathing.


I’m in the midst of my senior year. The time to finally enjoy high school. The time to savor friendship. The time to lay out my future.


But senior year isn’t really any of the poetic bu**s**t people tell you that it is. It’s not a blissful end, but a sh*tty beginning.


What has senior year marked the beginning of?


I’ve started to change my look. I used to wear frilly sweaters and skinny jeans almost daily. Now, I drape large sweatshirts over my silhouette, hiding the bulges of fat that erupt from my body because I can’t bring myself to workout or eat healthy (but more on that later). No longer is my hair straight and shiny. Most days, it’s matted, with curl patterns reaching uneven lengths around my torso. I’ve also skimped on my makeup, but I still use concealer, so I can cover up my lack of sleep with dark circles. I’ve started to not like running. I was formerly a 3 season varsity athlete in all of the running sports my school offered. Right now, I can’t be. In doing a sport now, I have never felt so tired while moving, as if molasses beat me to the ground every time I run. Every. Single. Time. I’ve started to not care about the tutoring I used to do. Or the volunteer initiatives. Or the little clubs I like.


It’s the beginning of the death of my youth, the death of the excitement of doing the things that make me happy, knowing it will pay off. Because now I know it probably won’t.


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