This is a true story of how I felt when an old denim skirt, that I had when I was nine refused to fit my current matured body. I despised myself for getting “fat" and developing clumpy curves, which was ridiculous because everyone's body changes throughout their lifetime.

“Fat,"

She thought.

“Why am I so fat?"

Frustration and self-loathing overcame her as pain began to build. She could barely breathe, let alone move in the denim skirt. That beautiful and cursed denim skirt. For years, that denim skirt hung in her closet, never seeing the beauty of daylight.

Now, she found the perfect top, and this of all things was happening. She began to feel faint. The denim skirt began to squeeze and suffocate her. It held onto her abdomen and refused to let go. The ends of it hugged tightly on her thighs. Actually, "hugged" was too modest of a word. It clamped and violated her flesh. The scene brought tears to her eyes, as she thought, "Why the fuck are my fucking thighs so fat?! Why am I so… fat…?"

Sobs came streaming down her cheeks, as she bit her lower lip, trying to cover up the shame. She laid on the bed, hating herself, her body, and that damn denim skirt that refused to fit.With defeat plaguing her body, she held her breath and pulled the skirt down. The skirt snugged onto her large thighs, but with a few jerks, it eventually let go of her skin. She was relieved that she was finally free of that damn denim skirt.

She found her favorite, washed out jeans and her old Nine West purse. With a smile that accepted the reality of the inability to return to her past self, she left to buy a new denim skirt that didn't suffocate and torture her mind.