Every morning she stares at herself in the foggy mirror, dreaming, hoping to be beautiful one day. She feels her stomach, grabbing the skin that she calls fat. Why? she thinks, do I have to look like this. This is disgusting. eww. I hate myself. I hate my face. I hate my stomach. I hate my nose, my hair. Eww, my hair. Damaged from all the straightening and teasing and brushing and yanking. she moves down to her thighs. ugh, why? why do my thighs have to be so fucking fat? she feels her thighs, yanking the skin there too. if only I were 20 pounds lighter. then id be happy. then id be…beautiful, which would make me happy. I just want to be happy. why can’t I just be fucking skinny?
she opens her closet slowly, dreading what comes next. But she’s running late so she can’t be too slow. she pulls out a new shirt, one she’d bought a couple days ago. She saw it gleaming on the hanger in the store. It looked so beautiful. She didn’t try it on in the store even though she knew she probably should have. She yanks it off the hanger quickly. she throws it on over her head. one arm through, then the next; fixes it in place. She forces on a new pair of skinny jeans one size too small. A seven seemed way too big at the store. A five would be fine. and if they were too snug it would only give her a reason and reminder to lose a few pounds. We’re good to go. I need to lose a few pounds anyways, she thought. She turns to face herself, again. It always seemed so scary and yet necessary to look. Oh my God! God! eww, ughhh! I look so fucking fat and fucking ugly in this outfit! Why can’t I look as good as her! I am so fucking ugly! she feels like shit. and believes she looks like shit too. She hastily tears off the beautiful shirt and throws on another, and another, and another, and a few more after the other. Her room is a complete mess, as nearly all her drawers have been emptied out onto the floor and bed. She rummages deep into the pile of fabrics, trying to find at least one thing that doesn’t make her look so fucking fat in the mirror. One thing that makes her feel partly human. One thing that doesn’t make all of her fat bulge out everywhere. One thing that makes her look beautiful. All her emotion and energy are consumed into what she is wearing. She could nearly jump off a cliff without thinking twice. She feels so disgusting. She promises herself that she will not eat anything all day. She doesn’t need it; she doesn’t fucking deserve it.
The outfit wasn’t the problem, it was her body. The monsters in her brain constantly screaming at her, telling her she’s ugly, she’s worthless; she’s shit. Eating at her every being. Picking, scraping yanking at her from every side. Pointing out all her flaws, every single tiny blemish that seemed to encompass her whole being. She wishes they would just stop for one fucking second. she feels so small. She wipes the helpless water from her cheeks just like the day before. Her mom yells at her to hurry up or else she’ll be late for school. she can’t be late. Not again. She settles on a baggy shirt and jeans, and runs out the door leaving breakfast behind; leaving hope behind on her dresser with the image of a smaller her from years before, when the mirror reflected a clear image. When she was in control.
Alyssa, you’re so beautiful. You are so strong. You are so amazing. You’ve inspired me. For all the people out there going through something similar to this, just know that you are beautiful. YOU ARE FUCKING BEAUTIFUL. I know you don’t feel that way, but hopefully one day you will come to this realization. There is help. There is hope. Please never lose faith in yourself. You are beautiful. You are important. You are loved.