Their problem isn’t with what I eat, it’s what it has done to me. It’s that my body has curves where it shouldn’t.

My body is a temple, but it’s a temple that has been burnt to the ground. My temple is the spotlight to all sorts of comments – “your boobs are too big; your ass is too small”.

It is a temple that has been called on for being ugly, yet has been the target of men “trying to get some.” My temple is young, so how can it have imperfections?

My body is my mind’s decision to be vegetarian, yet it doesn’t fit into jeans size 0. My vegetarian body is a college body. My vegetarian body cannot afford $8 salads at the nearby restaurants on a daily basis or trips to the closest Walmart every other day because my vegetables went bad.

My vegetarian body chooses cheap comfort food in moments of stress: Domino’s, Ramen, Hot Cheetos. My vegetarian body is the focus of their criticisms: “But how is that so?! You can’t be vegetarian and eat comfort food. A vegetarian only eats greens.”

The underlying assumption that my vegetarian body is being led by a healthy mind is where they’re mistaken. My vegetarian body is depressed.

My new curves line areas of my body I dread. They make their appearance apparent as I try on my clothes from last year and they tell me the clothes no longer fit. They make their appearance as I eat another slice of pizza and remember the insults they have attracted.

My curves follow a path, as if they were gyrus and sulcus tracing their path on my brain. My curves follow my every thought.

They tell me to lose the weight, right before they tell me I am not capable of it. My depressed mind believes it and eats that third slice of pizza.

My problem isn’t what the food has done to me, it’s that I believe it when they tell me that this is all I will ever eat. It’s that the comments hurt and the comfort food is what I fall on, because the curves show me that what they say has been true, until now.