Adolescence.

Adolescence was not particularly painful for me; I was a chubby, short child with bad teeth and awkward social habits. My parents had always loved me and been proud of my school marks, but I wasn't pushy enough of boundaries; I was happy to be good in the classroom; I didn't want anyone to dislike me, especially the teachers, because I liked them. My parents encouraged me to be naughty and have fun, but I was having fun. They just wanted me to be socially accepted which leads to fun, I suppose. When I hit fourteen, and got my period, I was thrilled; it was the first sign of maturity. I had hoped for it for quite a while. I also grew up, which added the effect of slimming out; I was no longer so fat, I looked as if I'd lost weight; others asked if I was bulimic. At that point, I was happy around food.

I got braces, which were none so hideous as my teeth, and because of my previous ugliness people began to think of me as comparatively pretty, and I became less socially inept. I took up dancing and became more graceful.

Because of all these things, I was not self conscious during adolescence; I'd gone through it before, in my ugly stage, when I had believed that society taking me at face value was wrong (I ascribed to this thought because some people liked me; and if they liked me looking as I did, nothing could be based on looks). Now it returns; I feel ugly and fat, worse than before, maybe because I am, no matter how I euphemistically address myself as quirky. I feel that I am paying penance. I wear a sweatshirt and t-shirt to disguise my concave chest, and makeup to alter my face. I try and cover my flab; I don't think there is much I like about myself, and this is why I cover it all up; I don't want anyone to see me really because they would be disgusted. I'm not commenting merely on the aesthetic anymore.

My sister is going through the same thing at the moment; she is only a decade old. She is chubby, yes, but not obese. Seven stone, and at least four feet eight at ten years old. She is beautiful; the little elf, my grandma used to call her. Well, she is not little, but her face is delicate and pixie-ish as neither of ours are. She pulls at her T-shirts to make them baggier, and hunches. I know that this is the worst thing to do; if you are confident others believe it. I blame myself, for having a silly five-hundred calorie a day phase when she was about seven, and I obviously received a lot of attention. My sister is a perfectionist, even at this young age, and my Mum is intending to take her on many bike rides (but not mention weight) to help her lose it. I don't think anything should be done; she's got a fairly healthy attitude to food (she needs to eat more if anything) and she's excessively sensitive; she'll spot weight loss attempts a mile off. If she doesn't lose it, she's failed and is still unacceptable; if she loses weight and becomes confident, she equates success with weight loss and becomes anorexic. She will later, I think. Lose weight and become anorexic. She'll slim out at puberty, like us, and then succumb to the lure of perfection, like me. She needs confidence building to avoid the latter; she doesn't need to try and lose weight now. I think a chubby childhood made me stronger, and that it isn't the worst thing to happen. Other's reactions make you think fat is the worst thing ever, and I don't want my sister to learn this. She already has, but I'm hoping that joining a drama club, something for her not to do with food, will be healing. I don't know why my Mum's so hung up on it; she doesn't want her daughter to be outcast, she wants her to be confident and feel good about herself. But I don't think this should be equated with weight loss, my sister is intelligent and does lots of sport; she is liked, I think. So why change her? I think weight loss attempts will be futile; we were all doomed to a chubby childhood. Genes are a bitch.