A question of character....

Okay, this is a kind of personal post. (They all are, aren't they? I mean, I have a big mouth.)

I have a confession. I was the fat girl.

I started gaining weight when I was 8. Third grade was a horrible year in which I started at a new, larger school, had a witch for a teacher, and was informed that I was "special" because I was a slow reader. The term "special" still bothers me to this day.

The real problem was junior high. In junior high, at age twelve, I ballooned right up. I know, I know. "Baby fat," right? WRONG. A decent excuse would be that I was about to shoot up to super model heights and graduate from my training bra. The problem with this theory? I was and am a whopping 5'2" which looks incredibly charming in a size 20. I also graduated from my training bra when I was 7. In fourth grade, my chest was the talk of the class when a girl shouted at me to get my "big b**bs" out of her face. I heard about little else for a month.

That's right, but eighth grade, I was a size 20. By size 20 I mean that my 18's were digging so deep into my gut that it was uncomfortable to sit through class but I suffered rather than go up a size. I also mean that I used my period to get out of gym class every day. The worst part were my friends. I started junior high with a group of what I thought to be gorgeous, cool friends. Jenny, who had long shiney brown hair and arms and legs like sticks. Alicia, a gorgeous blonde with the body of a 16 year old, ditzy but adorable. Amanda, who was the star of every hallway show, pug nosed, skinny, and fun. They loved me. They loved me because I was the butt of their jokes. When I was sad that boys would not go out with me, they created a secret admirer for me. Only, they told everyone that they were the secret admirer.

I finally got a boyfriend, a chubby boy that I will refer to as J1. J1 and I spent hours on the phone together. We watched The Wizard of Oz while we talked 0nce. We sang along. He never kissed me and would not hold my hand at school, only when we were in the park or with our families. When he broke up with me, I learned that it was all a joke. One of our friends dared him to date me. Happily, he ended up actually liking me. Saddly, he dumped me because he was embarrassed to date the "fat girl."

I lost my first 15 lbs before nineth grade. I felt great about it. Losing weight, for me, was like watching success. Each pound I lost was a number I could count, was a change I could see. I dumped my crappy friends during eighth grade for another set of girls I sometimes hung out with. Sarah, skinny and blonde and quiet. Janae, the jock. Melissa, who read as much as I did and spent hours on the phone with me. They noticed how nice I was looking and always made sure that I felt cared for.

In high school, I began to notice. Boys came and went, I chased the ones that didn't want me and tolerated the ones that did. Every relationship was tainted with that first one, though. If I liked him enough to date him and he liked me enough to date me, it must be a joke. Who wants to be the fat girl? And the people who weren't friends with me didn't notice the change. They called me Jobba the Hut and teased that no one would go to the dances with me. I shrank. I shrank some more. By 16, I was down to 150 and a size 11. I was comfortable. I felt beautiful. I started dating J who didn't let me think that it was all a joke. I shrank some more. Jason noticed that something wasn't right and he talked to me about it. I shrank some more. I kept shrinking.

By the time I was 20, I was a size three. If you saw my family, you would know that I should never be a size three. I can't say how I got that small. All I can tell you is that people around me tell me it wasn't healthy. I stayed small for a very short time, maintaining it by drinking until I was sick on a regular basis. Now I am a healthy size 8/10. I work out 6 days a week for about an hour each day. I try to maintain a healthy diet (but fail constantly because I love food).

Why am I telling you this in a writing blog? I have noticed that weight is a very difficult subject for me to touch on in my writing. It is at the very core of my being, something I know all too well. I could write a killer YA about dealing with weight issues. But I won't. Most of my characters are effortlessly thin. Once I attempted a heavier character but I was afraid that I couldn't do it justice. I want to make a fat girl who is cool and fun, not the kind of fat girl I was.

Does anyone else have this problem? I don't want to present characters as toned down versions of myself...