I don't know when it got so bad. Probably because it so slowly ate up my mind and occupied all my thoughts. It might not have been my main thought, not something I concentrate on fully or anything, but I could always feel it there, like a niggling voice in mind. It's always telling me that I'm above average size. I'm too fat. Telling me that the folds on my tummy are a disgrace to my body. The size of my thighs could not possibly fit into skinny jeans. My arms look terribly huge in singlets and spaghetti straps. My butt sticks out too much and takes up too much space. My calves are so unnaturally big and they make me look ugly in a dress. 

I always take a little too long to decide if I should take a candy bar, or if I should eat lunch, if I should eat dinner, if I should even eat that day. And the sense of satisfaction that I feel from skipping meals.. I can't exactly call it happiness. Happiness is for something good and pure and feeling happy for starving myself, well, that's pretty twisted. Yet every time I actually eat all three meals a day I feel so guilty, so sick and angry at myself while that voice continues to mock me and tell me that I'm fat I'm fat I'm fat. 

Ah, I don't know. I don't know why and when I started being so mindful of this. 

But I hate that voice, I hate it so much. Just as I dislike my body.