You've written a wonderful piece. It's touching. I'm curious to know whether it's true.
I liked it so much that I decided to help you improve the flow. Below you will find my suggestions on possible ways to rephrase your paragraphs. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me.
Sighing, I turn away from the mirror and rummage once more through my closet. There has to be something in here that won't make me look as big as I am.
I sigh as I turn away from the mirror and rummage through my closet again.
There has to be something in here that won't make me look as big as I am. Something to hide my stomach. After slamming the closet door, I slowly turn to face myself in the mirror. All I see is a fat girl crying.
Since I could remember, I was the "fat girl". At school, I would stand out from my classmates because of my size.
I've always considered myself a fat girl. In school, I stood out from the rest of my classmates. I darted through hallways just to avoid hearing people tease me about my flabby body. No one loved me.
Years of shame about my weight pushed my self-esteem into the ground.
I did everything I could to lose weight, from dieting to exercising, but each failure succeeded in destroying my self-esteem. Doctors told me I'm
obese. They would heave me onto a scale and then proceed to chastise me about the need to stay healthy. They can wear shorts and attractive bathing suits. They don't have to wear jeans and baggy shirts every day to hide unsightly folds and deep crevices.
Looking at magazines leads me to dream of looking like the thin women adorning the cover.
My gaze remains transfixed on the magazine covers of thin women in sexy lingerie.
Why do I do this to myself? Why do I feel so sorry for who I am and what I look like? Does society really think I'm undesirable? I'm not alone. There are many women out there who live their lives locked away at home, too afraid to be seen by the world.
I know that I may never look like the women in magazines or models strutting down the runway, but that does not mean that I will never be beautiful.
Yes, it's unlikely that I'll ever be able to look like the models on magazines, who strut down runways in sexy lingerie. However, that doesn't mean I can never be beautiful in my own way. Instead of angular planes and firm skin, I have soft curves. Instead of gaps between my thighs, I have ones that caress.
Until I can look in the mirror and smile at what I see, I will always have storm clouds over my head. Instead of constantly pointing out my flaws, I have to learn to accept them. I have to learn to love them because I will never be
that kind of woman.
I will always be the fat girl. And that's okay.
I'm fat, and that's okay.