justagirlwriter: October 2015

"Why can't I see beauty in the person I see in the mirror?"

"If other people can love me, why can't I love me?"

"How can anyone think this body is beautiful?"

These questions filled my head every single day for years and years. Driving me to a deep depression I kept hidden inside myself. I looked in the mirror and pinched the fat oozing out of my jeans. I rubbed my thumb over the stretch marks wishing they might just buff out of my skin. My boobs looked like implants that never stopped growing. I looked at the acne scars embedded into my fair skin hoping my makeup would make them a little less noticeable. I couldn't find any feature of mine that I would consider "pretty." I even found my rare green eyes only "alright." I wanted a new body, I didn't want to be me. I felt like I had been given the short end of the stick in the appearance department.

Eventually, I forced myself to give up food. I would skip meals, mush my food on my plate to make it appear eaten. I would take one single bite and use the "I had a really big breakfast" excuse every day at lunch. If I ever gave in to my hunger and ate a regular meal, I would punish myself, allowing only liquids to touch my tongue for days.

In high school, I was a cheerleader so being active, I lost weight pretty fast. I was wearing a size one jean my Junior year and I still hated the girl I saw in the mirror. Others would compliment me on being adorable or "so small." Nothing they said, ever made a difference to me. I hated myself.

I was the only person who could fix me.

My opinion was the only one that could make a difference.

I had to show myself that I was beautiful.

I struggle everyday to love myself. Somedays, I can honestly say I don't like myself a whole lot, but I started focusing more on the girl who was inside instead of the one I saw in the mirror. I started forcing myself to smile more, which inevitably made me feel happier. I started accepted the compliments I received instead of shutting them down and telling myself none of what anyone said was true. I started telling myself that I had confidence, even though it started as a complete lie. You know that saying "fake it until you make it?" Well, I took that saying to heart as ridiculous as it may sound.

Nowadays, I have stretch marks. I have acne marks and scars and I'm fitting loosely in a size ten. I'm also a firm believer in size is just a number. What matters is finding clothes that fit your body and feeling good in the clothes you wear. If you feel good, you look good. It's as simple as that. Now, I love my skin. I love it so much I decorate it with body ink and art. I am now on tattoo number thirteen and I don't plan on stopping. They make me feel beautiful and a little bit badass (shhhh... don't tell). I have the confidence now to show myself off a bit, instead of hiding away. When I put makeup on, its to enhance my features, not hide them or cover them up from the world. If I have a zit the size of Mount Everest on my chin, oh well, if you think I'm ugly because of it, then you can suck it. It's the person under that zit that really matters. Its the sarcastic, yet optimistic, smartass underneath it all that you're going to remember.