Dear Jess,

Throughout my life I always hated myself. No matter how many times my friends told me I was smart, I felt dumb, and no matter how many my family called me pretty, I found myself to be the ugliest person in the room. Not to be dramatic, but that is honestly how I saw myself. I used to imagine where a plastic surgeon would use his scalpel to shape me into the "best" version of myself. I used to imagine the dotted lines along my arms, and stomach and thighs to create the ideal proportions—the "pretty" me.

When I was nine-years-old, I went on my first "diet." I hated the baby belly I had, and one day at school we were given pedometers. That little blue box became my best friend in third grade. Instead of playing, I reserved a good portion of my time to jumping rope for hours on end until I felt like I was adequate enough for a bathing suit. But I was still a baby. The moments I should have been a kid were dominated by calories and excessive jump rope.

Four years later that mindset of self-loathing returned, but stronger. A friend told me that the year before a bunch of the boys in the class came up with a nickname for me. To boil it down, I was basically too short and too fat. And the thing was, until I knew that I was "too much," I had been doing better. But this? This began the mental deterioration of myself. I hated looking in the mirror and I hated shopping for clothes. I followed all the "rules" for curvy girls: all black, no color, never horizontal stripes, and so forth.

I thought if I did these things people would view me as prettier. But instead, I closed myself off with so many walls that I barely spoke. School became a state of constant hatred that I'd go into the bathrooms and cry because it was too much.

I was too much.

By ninth grade, I was a little more confident, but I also found myself up to 300 crunches a day before I injured my tailbone. I'd do them in my room or when no one was home because deep down I knew there was an obsession in each crunch. I wanted to be this perfect person that was smart and had the perfect body and could have confidence ooze from herself. But, to me, I could never obtain this version I so desperately wanted to be.

Although the tailbone thing hurt, I thank God that it happened. Without that, who knows the physical distress I could have put my body under. But that wasn't the only harm done. My mental state was really deteriorating. My friends left me and I sat alone at lunch for half a year during my junior year of high school. I felt myself losing interest in writing and reading. I kept imagining a world without me in it. Like what would the world be like if I had never existed? Even though I had people who loved me I felt like a burden with all the parts of me that I thought were not enough or too much.

It wasn't until college that things changed for me. I came here and had every intention of going to class and going back to my apartment. I didn't care about making friends or joining clubs or anything. I just wanted to get a degree and go home. But life is funny and the people you meet change everything.

I met Natasha, Alice, and Mallory fall semester freshman year and Kenneth spring semester. My love for them exceeds nearly everything. Someone close to me hurt me really badly and laid out a bunch of the insecurities I had only started to heal from. And these people were the ones that showed me what unconditional love feels like from people that aren't required to love you. They became my built-in family. I cannot fathom a life without them in it because our love for each other goes to show how we can face whatever obstacles come our way because there's a great support system to back us up.

Somewhere in between meeting them and sophomore year, I stopped hating myself. I wish there was some beautiful story about it but one day it just happened, at least that's how I remember it. But this semester something in me felt like it was breaking again. Music is the only thing I can bring myself to do when those thoughts pop back up. It's still hard but whenever I'm having a hard day, I put my earbuds in and I remind myself of the girl I used to be and the girl I am now. I never would have worn bright red lipstick to class. I never would have worn a crop top or a vertical striped, colorful sweater. I never would have argued back with people in fear I might offend them.

But something in me changed. I went into college with this "fuck it" attitude and it worked. I've worked through trauma and self-hatred and just pain in general and I'm still here. And even when the bad days come in strong, I know I'll still be here and I'll be okay. Because I am more than my worst days and I am more than the little voice in my head who tells me I will never be good enough.

Sincerely,

A stronger Jess