Parties were never my thing. The scenes of a party include loud music, drunken teenagers, and people getting high in the next room over. The feelings of a party were supposed to be excitement, passion, lust, and relaxation. But, for me, I never felt like I fit in at these social gatherings. I would sit in the corner of the room with a cup in my hand trying to get drunk enough to come out of my shell. The escape of booze suppressed the waves of anxiety and self-loathing that rushed my full figure when I would see a couple making out on the couch. When I would hear my friends talk about the “hot guys” numbers that they got. Or smelling the sex in the air when I would race into the bathroom after a young couple emerged to evacuate the alcohol from my system. I would look around and see the smile on the faces of my friends as they watched their crush hold their hand or lean in for their first kiss. As I would watch the chaos of lust surrounding me, I would fell the cold spots on my cheeks where kisses had never been. I would feel my hands get clammy because I can’t remember the last time they felt the touch of a boy’s hand caressing them. I would feel my heart sink into my fat stomach because I thought the reason no one loved me was because of my sheer size. Growing up as a chubby kid prepares you for a life of difficulty. It prepares you for the glares when you order more food than everyone else at the table, or when the other kids would jog past your sprints in gym class. It would prepare you for the cruel words said to you by bullies not taking into account that you would one day be your biggest bully. But, being a chunky child never would prepare you for the hole you feel in your soul when you see all of your skinny friends in a happy relationship, and guys stare at you like a foreign object from a land unknown. It could never prepare you for the emptiness that fills your personal bubble at school dances because the friends you came with left to grind on guys on the dance floor. Growing up, you see these skinny, blond teens in movies and you know that one day you will grow up to be the girl every guy wants to be with. But, I’m still waiting for the day my waist magically shrinks and my hair bleaches to that stunning sun kissed shade so that my beauty will match on the outside what I feel on the inside. I’ve always wished to be that girl that walks down the hall and makes heads spin, but usually I can’t even make eye contact with the boys who avert their eyes from my thunderous hips. Being plus size is not a term of positivity in this world. It seems so shameful that most stores hide the tainted signs in the parts of the store no bigger than I am. The term “plus size” comes with baggy clothes that hang off my curves and hide my voluptuous body. The term “plus size” means not a human being, only an emotionless blob that can’t seem to keep its s*** together when it lays its eyes on cheese fries. Negativity surrounds the words plus size, fat, chunky, chubby, think, and whatever the hell else you decide to label my large physique as. Girls are taught to snip, tuck, and shave from a young age, and anything other than perfection is unacceptable. Since I can’t seem to conform to perfection, perfection will just have to conform to me. I will take perfection and stretch, bend, break, crease, and fold it until it lays over each centimeter of my skin. Each stretch mark will spell out perfection with its pink scarring. Each perfect roll will protrude when I put on stylish clothes that look crazy good on me. Each pound of perfection will make up my body as I grow and learn that I AM PERFECT. I don’t need the comfort from the hand of a false love. I don’t need the dead kiss to my cheeks of a boy trying just to get a piece of this rolling mountain. I don’t need the warmth of a sweaty body grinding on my unwilling a** especially after I’ve said no. And I definitely don’t need a guy that tells me he “loves me for my size” or says I’m “pretty for a big girl”. Damn, I’m pretty, period. And beautiful, gorgeous, kind, loving, sexy, flirtatious, fine, alluring, and perfect for me. I will be perfect for me and me only. I will never be perfect for you unless you are willing and worthy to see this plump princess in a light that is not alien. When polluted eyes are cleaned and made pure so that they may see the heart that beats inside this ample chest, then I will be perfect for you. Being plus size is not a sin, or something I should be made to feel guilty of. Every day is one more step to my hungry eyes seeing my hungry body is only hungry for love from myself. I will no longer starve my overflowing belly of the love and acceptance it deserves. And once that love for myself fills my heart, someone else will notice that fat girl alone in the corner and want to ask her for a chance to win her heart. They will see my confidence and know that I am worth the extra weight. They will see that I am plus size perfection.