As I walk through the hallway, I peek out of the corner of my eye at every person to analyze their facial expressions. Do they think I'm trying too hard? Does my outfit look okay? Because, personally, I feel like a clown playing dress-up in this girly thing, and frankly I don't feel like myself.

The outfit looked okay this morning – at least when it was on the hanger. Now it is just uncomfortable. I'm wearing pretty gray boots and a shirt to match, but I'm afraid to bend over in these skinny jeans. I lock my muscles tight, wishing I was anywhere but here in front of the judgmental eyes of school. No, I'm not dressing for that special someone, but rather this cruel society.

My sister smirks at me when I rush to her room in the morning begging to know if I look okay. Okay as in “Will people judge me positively, when I'm just dying to wear some PJ ­bottoms and a sweatshirt?” People judge, ­unconsciously or not, and being a size 13, most people just see the fat. Clothes mask it, but my personality is not enough to compensate.

Now I'm hurrying to my first class, feeling too vulnerable to wander. I plaster on a big smile and act like I'm not an outcast. And as the day wears on, I pretend that people think I'm skinny with this getup on, and I pray no one sees through me.

You may call me insecure, and I am, but please, judge me.