At 200 pounds, I'm the heaviest and happiest I've ever been. I'm writing all the books I've dreamed of writing at my youngest and thinnest of weights. I'm exercising, and eating peaches and pears and homemade soups and salads. I have great sex with my partner and catch myself smiling at various intervals throughout the day, for no reason.

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I've never been naturally thin. At 11 years old, I was already heavier than all the other girls. I had large breasts and my period. I was taller and athletic. For years, I was picked on for being larger than my classmates. I was picked on throughout elementary, middle, and high school. I hated to look at myself in the mirror. My stomach knotted each time the alarm clock went off because I knew the horrors that would be waiting for me at school.

At 16, I approached 190 pounds. As the harassment at school continued without pause, I became incredibly conscious not only about the way I looked but that perhaps I was less than, not worthy of the same treatment as my peers as a result of my weight.

I experimented with so many types of diets: the egg and black coffee, the water only, and the one meal per day. I lost weight and then gained it back. Finally, I resorted to extreme measures. At 17, I incorporated vomiting after every meal as part of my daily mealtime routine. I dropped 50 pounds. I looked amazing, but I felt sad and ashamed of the route I took to lose the weight, to lose the bullying and torment I faced at school, the rejection I faced from guys and the eyes of the world.

When I got to college, I was so paranoid of gaining all the weight back that I kept myself on a 500-calorie diet. I exercised more than an hour each day: 30 minutes in the morning and then weight training at night. I lived off protein bars and Lean Cuisines. I refused alcohol and any invites where I knew there'd be food. I even had a nightmare that I ate a whole box of chocolates and gained all the weight back. These weight gain dreams were reccurring.

I lived my life based on my weight and counted every fluctuation on the scale. If I gained even a half a pound, I starved myself until it melted away. Each day became a reminder that my looks were on trial. I had barely any friends, and I left for home each weekend.

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By the end of the year, I was at my lowest weight: 130 pounds. While this seems like a normal weight for someone who is only 5-foot-3, it took extreme measures to keep me there. For years, I maintained this unrealistic weight, and by unrealistic, I'm referring to the unhealthy habits that kept me there.

I decided to transfer to a college close to home since I was coming back each weekend. I met a great guy who encouraged me to write more, paint, and enjoy life again. I wound up going to more parties, sampling different foods, working on my art more, and forgetting about my size. Two years and 50 pounds later, I was at 180 pounds.

Again, I tried all the major diets, and each time I would up gaining all the weight back (and more). So I said the hell with it. I threw in the towel. I made sure I exercised at least five days a week, for at least 40 minutes. I eat what I want (within reason) and have my glass (or two) of red wine every day.

I decided to let go, to not be a prisoner to diet fads and self-inflicted bouts of starvation. I'm a size 14 and happy. I'm writing, gardening, cooking, and in the best relationship of my life. I'm done caring about what other people think about my body. My body is not their concern.

I'm over criticizing every aspect of my body in the mirror. I'm over contributing to the bullies' comments, and I'm done with hurting my insides just to fit some nonexistent mold, which really doesn't exist.

I decided to go see a nutritionist who told me I was fine the way I was. She said I had an athletic build, was muscular, and my weight looked fine with my frame. She told me that everyone has his or her weight, and not to fall into that psychobabble trap. And so I don't fall, I don't even think about the weight. Instead, I think about balance: eating healthy and making sure I give my body the exercise it deserves.

This week I lost one pound without even trying. But who's counting?

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