Hi sisters. I’m 16. I hate PCOS.
I was always chubby. When I was a baby, everyone thought it was baby fat. When I began to grow up the “baby fat” didn’t go away. I was never thin, nor even close. I was born with PCOS, my ever present fiend.
When I was five to ten years old I was confused. I wasn’t a big eater, I liked good, healthy foods, and, yes, obviously I loved lollypops and chocolate, as most six year olds do, but I didn’t eat any more than any other six year old. I was confused, because, I didn’t understand why it was that I could eat so much less and so much healthier than skinny what’s-her-name and yet I was the one who looked like a pig in a wig while she already looked like she’d be a model one day.
And so it was, I was a first grader on a diet when most of my forty-five pound classmates didn’t even know what a diet was. It wasn’t fair, I resented my plight, yet I knew that I had to accept it as a part of my life. I was in a good school, with a nice bunch of girls, so I wasn’t the basis of my classmates’ petty mockery.
Yet, there was the occasional snide remark, uttered by one of the skinnies, which would leave me mute. I can still feel the sensation of burning, tingling, skin as my angry, hurt, blood coursed through my veins. I wouldn’t answer, or even defend myself, obviously. After all she was right, wasn’t she? I really was a horrible lump, wasn’t I? She was so thin and pretty, she had the license to call me whatever she pleased, and I should take it, I was only being told the truth.
Most of the time, thank God, I had more confidence. My self esteem was high, and although sometimes I might’ve been hurt, I never let it affect me for too long. The teachers loved me, my family loved me, and so it was, I grew up content.
The skinnies matured and I was treated just like one of them. We weren’t best friends or anything, but they were polite and nice. As they continued to grow taller and become thinner I stopped growing at barely 5’1 and continued to expand. Then when I was fourteen to fifteen years old the hair came…and the hair went. One of the worst aspects of PCOS, in my opinion. My beautiful, thick blonde hair began to thin, and, well…I don’t even want to go into the hair that came. I felt disgusted. I was disgusting.
All the years I’d accepted the pudgyness but this was to much. I cried and cried, and then cried some more when I realized that all the tears in the world wouldn’t make the hair go away. I was a freak of nature, I told myself. I was a girl born with female parts yet here I was growing facial and bodily hair like any male. I was horrendous. I love to swim. I’m really good too. In summer camp, I used to be the first one in the pool. I went to camp for four weeks this past summer. I didn’t go into the pool even once. My excuse? I’d become a hygiene freak and didn’t want to swim in everyone else’s sweat. Yeah right.
Slowly, with me not even realizing it at first, my confidence began to dwindle away. I used to love speaking in front of audiences, everyone called me a natural. Now I would no longer voluntarily do so. I still love to speak and act, I’m just scared people will find me to be sore to their eyes. Don’t get me wrong, I never did and hopefully never will care what people think about me. I’ve got one life to live so I’d like to live it and not have anyone else live it for me.
So when the newest fad comes out I’ll only follow it if I like it, not because everyone else does. When the girls say that something is so totally nerdy or lame, I’ll keep on doing it if I feel it’s the right thing to do. Why then do I let my fears of what they’ll think of my appearance restrict me? I have no idea. There’s a fine line that’s not overtrodden, I am individualistic in all matters but I don’t want anyone to find me disgusting. I don’t think I’m letting society rule my life if I don’t want to parade around in all my hairyness.
If you think I am conformist, go ahead and think want you like, you’re entitled. I’m confident in my individuality. My insecurites are only about my PCOS.
The other worst part part of PCOS is the inability to lose weight. I don’t have PCOS beacuse I’m fat, I’m fat beacause I have PCOS.
I began the Atkin’s Diet two weeks ago. It’s a highly acclaimed high protein low carb diet. It’s been proven to be highly successful. For the past two weeks I have not eaten any sort of grain or fruit. I’ve eaten only meat, fish, cheese, eggs, and some select vegetables. I haven’t cheated once. There’s a misconception about cheating. People think if they “cheat” they’re cheating the diet. The fools don’t realize they’re cheating no one but themselves. It was hard the first few days. My house is perpetually stocked with all sorts of goodies imagineable. I practiced a lot of self control. First it stopped being hard, and then the carbs disgusted me, and then they revolted me. Because, dear sisters, when I look at that moist, warm, gooey choloate cake, or that deep brown chocolate studded with MnMs I no longer see their tasty goodness, no longer do I fall prey to their seductive scents. What then do I see when I look at these morsels of Hell? I see myself. I see my my chest and my stomache and my back and my face and all the other hair infested areas of my body, and instead of salivating I hurl. The food no longer has any power over me, I have triumphed over it.
So what’s my problem now? Let me tell you. After two weeks of being on the strictest diet I have ever been on I step onto the scale, and what do I see? I havn’t lost as much as a single freaking pound! Not even one! DIE PCOS, DIE!!!!
Want to connect with me? My name is Leah124 on the SoulCysters Message Board.