Dear Girl-I-Sit-With-At-Lunch.
Hi. How are you?
Yesterday you told me that I looked better, that I was smiling more. I agreed and said that I felt happier, partly due to my medication. You then proceeded to ask if I was eating more, to which I said that I had been, but that I had stopped because I was finding the reality of gaining weight hard. You agreed that it must all be very hard.
The truth is, "well" or "better" to me is translated as meaning "fat". It's illogical, but true. Well, the feeling is true. You weren't to know - its not your fault.
So you see, I'm screaming out inside although I have this calm exterior. And I won't tell you that I've gained some weight for fear of you thinking worse of me.
I'm sorry if I was slightly sad the rest of the afternoon; if I didn't live up to new expectations or seemed more pensive than usual.
Yours,
G x
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