Ruminations on Plus Sized Jeans

I've never really been ashamed of my scars.
I know a lot of people who self injure(d) who are terribly uncomfortable with other people seeing their scars. They wear long sleeves in the middle of summer, or cover their arms with make-up, or never ever go swimming. If someone does ask about where their scars came from, they don't answer. Or they lie: a vicious cat, a barbed wire fence, a car accident... But for years and years now, I don't mind who sees my scars. I wear what I want to wear, and if someone asks me what happened to my arm, I say "I used to cut myself" (I have a different answer for kids, but that's not out of shame).
But what I really am ashamed of, is my weight. Shame. To the point where I do things like seriously considering not going to see a bunch of my high school who are getting together near me in a couple of months. Just because I am so ashamed of the size of my body.
And yeah yeah yeah, diet, exercise, blah blah blah. I know all that. This post isn't about that. This is about the fact that right now, today, I am fat, and I am ashamed.
So I was kinda thinking about that the other day... because really, I would love to see these friends again. I use sugar in a lot the same way I used to use self injury. I find that sugar dulls me, emotionally. When I have enough sugar in my bloodstream, I don't feel lonely or afraid or angry or whatever else it is I don't want to feel.
So, if I'm not ashamed of the scar-looking scars on my arms, why should I be ashamed of the scars that look like a big belly and chubby cheeks? I came by them both the same way. I did what I felt like I had to do to be OK with whatever was going on for me. I still do sometimes. And while I want to find and am working on finding better ways to cope, how could I blame myself for taking the best care of me I know how to in the moment?
Maybe my plus-size jeans just mean "Fuck you, hard times. I'm still here, and you aren't" just like the scars on my arms do.