The summer of 2017 was an obscure and difficult time for not only myself but my family also. The intense drain of A Levels and the constant messages and attention from others due to my late grandmother had vanished. We were left with empty souls and we pushed ourselves for all-new purposes.

After heartbreak, misery and loss; my mind and body felt tainted…damaged. Attaining self worth became a challenge every day and only got worse as time passed. Soon, I became obsessed with my body image and the way I looked. No amount of makeup could mask my misery. The days of happiness became so fluctuated that I was unsure how I would feel every morning I awoke.

For a long time, the sounds of harmless humour was hiding a broken soul that had no remedy to be healed.

I would joke casually about suicide and depression hoping that someone might hear my screams. However, during that time I was unaware of what I was doing.  The way I felt would come and go in waves. My attitude would be so f*cking insane at times, that I would strive in certain areas of my life allowing my body to achieve its potential academically and socially – nonetheless at the back of my mind I would know that the confidence was only temporary. Others whom have struggled through the process of a love-hate relationship with themselves can most likely empathise with this.

Nearly 9 months later, the pinnacle of my experience was caused by gaining weight at university. Unfortunately, my weight gain was nowhere near extreme – yet I described myself as if I had put on hundreds of pounds. I kept telling myself I was not enough and those words pierced through my body allowing the unhealthy negative energy to be exposed. Pinching my body was a mechanism to make myself acknowledge my fat needs to disappear or shouldn’t be there. I would despise getting ready in the morning because it meant I had to look at my bare body… in all its glory…. in the mirror.  I would stare at other people’s bodies, and judge them so harshly in order to see and make myself believe that was how people stared at me. I would panic about not fitting into some of my sisters clothes which were a size 4.

Interestingly, there is an assumption that to have an unhealthy obsession with weight, people must be either obese or extremely skinny. There are regular girls and boys with these issues and they are exasperated by circumstances in your life. The only thing that you can control is your weight and when you can’t, you feel unsafe within your own skin.

However, writing (as you can tell) was a major remedy for whatever it is that I went through. Expressing the deepest and ugliest parts of myself on paper showcases that one’s social media platform is a glass eye to filter out real life experiences. For example, a day out could be photographed, but who would know whether the family day out was filled with arguments and bitterness throughout the day?

Everyone goes through it or, almost everyone – but how many make themselves so vulnerable that they could publish a piece on their fears?

Due to further fears of judgement and perception, I would refuse to see people with whom I wasn’t super comfortable with. My anxiety would mount so high I couldn’t bare it… again using humour:

“hahaha I am an ANXIOUS MESS lol”

*sends text*

During these feelings I needed a saviour. Someone I could look up to, someone I could idolise. That person was clearly badgalriri. At the peak time of my mental illnesses (whatever one wants to name it) I thought of “thickanna”. People genuinely had a name for Rihanna and what she looked like with more weight on. Her oozing confidence and appraisal for it encouraged me to salvage my previous confidence and start wearing it proudly. Her largest smack in the face was her ‘SavagexFenty’ line that many found odd and unsexy to some extent.

Do you want to know why?

Because the models were FAT. The lingerie didn’t showcase a Fifty Shades sex appeal.

The idea that someone fat can wear sexy items of clothing is considered ridiculous (whether society pretends to embrace “plus size” models or not). Sex and fatness don’t appeal to one’s eye during the social norms upheld by platforms such as Instagram. Extra layers (and layers) of fat, skin and stretch marks could never be decorated with a beautiful lace.

(Anyway, what does fat even mean? Unhealthily obese? A size 16? WHAT?)

One part of me wanted to believe in the ugliness of fat people in sexy clothing, but the other pushed to embrace all body types and appreciate their sex appeal.

Thus… it made me think that even though I have a goal I want to achieve in terms of body image, I need to f*ck the savagery in my head and salvage my inner confidence and wear it with PRIDE. I’m learning to adore my body so I can wear cool clothes again. Lol.

To finalise, even though I used to believe that my body was ugly and tainted – I am working towards a healthier outlook on this subject matter. However, I do appreciate how fine my face is. (The arrogant Rhea still exists don’t worry) xx