D ear Counselor

When we sit down to play a “getting to know you” game on the first night of camp you won’t learn much about me. Sure you’ll find out how many siblings I have my favorite color my preferred brand of toothpaste and all the other details that are oh-so-integral to my identity as a camper. But nothing more than that.

A few days will pass and you’ll be certain that you have figured me out; after all I cannot hide. I’m that jolly self-deprecating fat girl the one that’s necessary for every camp story the one that fits every happy-go-lucky fat-girl stereotype that you’ve ever heard.

I cannot hide my body but my body hides my pain my secrets.

When they train you before camp telling you warning signs to look out for they will teach you about disappearing bodies warn you to watch for shrinking frames. They will not mention anything about bodies that grow larger even as the person shrinks increasingly inside herself; they will not tell you that a large body can hide that it grows bigger to accommodate the secrets it harbors.

You will not notice me trying to disappear trying to make myself invisible even as I get bigger. I won’t be one of your problem- or troubled campers; you’ll only think of me in passing with a smile and a feeling of relief: Hey at least this one doesn’t need special attention extra TLC. The few times you glimpse my sadness I will excuse it as tiredness with flippant comments of not having enough chocolate in my system.

My skipped meals will go unnoticed; my binges will not.

My shame will also pass unnoticed. I play my part well clearly at ease with myself. After all I’m the one cracking jokes at my own expense. I’m the one quipping about my weight turning myself into one big comedy show. I only do it so that nobody else will. You will never know how much it hurts me to put on this armor spiked on the inside with spears and swords that are sharpened daily ensuring that I never forget my place.

You will never know how much I hate putting on this costume. You will never know how much I despise this game of hide-and-seek in which I am the only one playing. Nobody knows to look for me; people tend to overlook the things hiding in plain sight. You would never suspect me of being able to hate anyone to the degree that I hate myself; if you could hear the way I speak to myself you would be appalled. And you will never know how much I hate myself with every bite that I take.

I’m not cute and perky and I’m not shy and sweet. I’m not a loud chevraman just somewhere in the middle donning a sense of humor that never seems to fit me right. Maybe you’ll find me annoying maybe you won’t know what to do with me. But I promise disinterest is not the answer.

I will never approach you will never bother you and when you catch me crying at random hours in hidden places toward the end of camp — no it’s not because I’m overtired. It’s because I’m leaving my safe place to go back to a scary one. You don’t have to pry; chances are I’m not going to talk to you anyway. But understand that I too have a problem; I too am hurting I just don’t know how else to say it. So please I beg you help keep camp safe for me. Don’t judge me don’t ignore me don’t let them make fun of me.

And please please please — don’t let me make fun of me.

Sincerely

Your camper

(Originally featured in Family First Issue 549)