I spent a lot of time (reblog)

I spent a lot of time in his bathroom trying to feel beautiful. 

Like that one night when he still lived in the tiny studio and he asked me to wait in the bathroom while he jerked off. While I waited, I took a photo of my tits in worn out t-shirt and thought about sending them to someone who wasn’t him–someone who I knew would tell me I was beautiful–and then tried not to cry as I heard him orgasm through the cheap hollow door. 

Him needing to jerk off alone wasn’t something to be upset about–the tears were more about the fact that a few hours before that he had explained to me that his mom wanted a photo of us—but he didn’t want to send her one because I was too fat.

He didn’t want to ‘explain’ to his mother why my body was bigger than socially acceptable.  

I remember sitting on the closed top of his toilet, angry that I still let him have sex with me that night; angry that I pretended to enjoy being touched by him; angry that when he couldn’t get off I thought that it was because I was too fat to be arousing; angry that for I let him make me believe I wasn’t beautiful enough to be touched–wasn’t beautiful enough to be loved.

I wasted a lot of time sitting in his bathroom feeling unloved.

This was the last photo I took of myself feeling unworthy and unloveable

I’m moving past that now.

I am.

--Girlvswhale