I am one of the short-peakers, although it used to be different. I always have been one of the bigger kids, not only in length but also in width, until I reached the age of 11-12. While I had my growing pains my mother got a terminal illness. In combination of that I started to loose weight. I grew so my skin got tighter and there were no signs of fat because I kept loosing weight. People had different feelings about it, some thought it was because of the stress of my mothers death, other people thought it was amazing and that I looked absolutely stunning. I received compliments and I felt physically better even though I was mentally touched. At that point the only thing that was good about my life was being thin. I felt proud of myself and when I was riding my bike I couldn't help but look at myself in the window shops or other objects that worked as a mirror. There were so many things going on at the same time; I moved to my uncle and aunt, I went to a different school, I started a new live etc. Without noticing I went to far and I started to collapse at school because I didn't eat enough. The doctor told me to eat more sugar as I never told that I didn't had breakfast in the morning, I threw my food away during lunch and because I was so weak in the evening I just went straight to bed without diner. Because the only food I ate was sugar I kind of became addicted to it. I started eating other things again.
So here I am: absolutely loving my food, can't live a day without, preferably eating more than necessary, and chubby again. Too afraid to look at myself because I have more fat than I want myself to have. But I still look at myself, because I started loving something else, which I hated about myself when I was obsessed about not eating; my curls.
Not everyone is perfect, and you definitely shouldn't feel perfect. Perfection leads to perdiction. I used to straighten my hair because I hated my curls. When I moved to England I realised how much better natural beauty actually was; I was trying to be fake. You have to understand that I hate fakeness. The girls in my school put on loads of make-up because they are insecure about their skin, and because they think it looks better on them. It doesn't. And yet, I seldome leave my house without make-up on because I do think it is important. The thing is that I don't over-do it. After all; real beauty is natural beauty.

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