Three times a day, I turned the shower up to an almost unbearable scald and stood there until every pipe in the building seemed to have run cold.

In the street, the persecution began. Not with words or gestures or staring eyes, but without them. I walked to class each day alone. The problem with maturity is that it only ever silences people until the elephant has left the room. I sit at a desk not large enough for me and know that the people behind me whispering and laughing aren't doing so for the teacher's sake. I try to focus instead on the book in front of me, but anytime I see "large" or "massive" I stir a bit in my seat. Now that class has begun, the whispers behind me are audible and I realize that my shirt had caught on the chair as I sat down, exposing my back like a target. They launch comment after comment, knowing each one will be a hit. I am the backside of the barn. I can't even read words that rhyme with fat. I want to reach over and pull my shirt down, or to ask the people behind me to be quiet, but I know I can't reach. I want more than anything to get up and leave--I can't pay attention, anyway--but I know I can't get up quietly, or leave unnoticed. I can't sneak out a side door, or even out of my seat. I can't stop hearing the whispers behind me. I can't understand what the professor is saying. I can't see any of the words on the page. The whispers, the professor, the page, they're all saying "fat, fat, fat!" And now I'm breathing hard and I know my face is turning red and I want to leave but the desk gets tighter the harder I breathe. I scratch at my neck and my chest and breathe harder. I look up to the ceiling and focus on the stipple. Each one of those bumps and protrusions is a sac of fat and I imagine myself stepping on them. I walk across this landscape with nothing but mounds of cellulite and fatty tissue, and I stomp on them until they burst. The fluid rolls out like a thick, white syrup and the more I stomp, the higher the fluid gets. It reaches my waist, but I wade through the shit and continue stomping the adipose pockets. Eventually it reaches my chin but I continue to stamp the floor, more violently now than when I'd begun. I take a huge breath as the viscous solution envelops the rest of my body and I stomp and stomp and stomp.