The first time I looked in the mirror and called myself fat, I was twelve. I think about this sometimes, as I walk down the street and pass groups of giggling middle school girls drinking sugary Frappuccinos and gossiping about cute boys from science class. These girls are perfect creatures: beautiful, natural, and brimming with unlimited potential. When I look back on the hours I wasted at their age torturing myself with unrealistic ideas about body image and beauty, my heart hurts.
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