I can't start at the beginning, it's all too convoluted.
Let's start here:
I am fat.
Not "if you just switched from bagels to english muffins, and gave up one Starbucks coffee per week, you would give up X amount of calories and therefore could lose X amount of pounds per month" that so many glossies will tout. (Just one of many reasons I almost never read the glossies anymore, but that's a post for another time.)
No, I'm actual fat.
Christmas 2012. I haven't decided if I'm ever going to share my actual weight and size, but I'm not prepared to just now. For reference, my sister-in-law, who has the monkey face, is about a size 3.
Also: it's important to note, I have other pictures and more recent ones, but this is the only one I could even come to terms with the idea of showing.
I don't know. It's hard for me to share with you guys, even though I've mentioned it before, putting up an actual picture and saying My name is Becky and I have problems with my body is...too real. Does that make sense?
A part of me worries that some of you might be repulsed and disgusted and I don't know. I guess if someone decides to stop reading my blog or think less of me because of my figure, then I probably don't want them as a reader/friend.
But it's scary.
'Cuz I don't know.
Anyway, My name is Becky and I am fat.
I have problems with food and have since I can remember. I have been chubby since my earliest memories, which go back to well before kindergarten.
I've been wanting to talk about this on my blog for quite some time, but I've been sitting on it because that's what you I do when faced with things that are scary.