The following was all I had written for my anorexia experience book I’d been planning on writing. I go back and forth between deciding whether or not I’ll actually write it. I wrote this almost a year ago. December 21, 2012. I am in no position to continue writing this right now. I try to write this blog to be positive, but I want it to be real. I’m not happy all the time. I’ve spent the bulk of this month in intense depression. Continuing with this book now is probably not a good idea. But I read it now and just think, “this is so accurate.” This is how I think. Maybe one day I’ll write more of this. But not now. For now enjoy what I have done:
Some cold girl stares at me. I don’t know who she is. Her skin is gross. I can see every flaw on it. Every freckle and every pore seem to be magnified. How can she live with herself? There probably isn’t an amount of foundation in the world that would fix that mess. Her eyes are a gross shade of brown. Some people have alluring chocolate or hazelnut colored eyes. Black is even acceptable, but this girl’s eyes are some deep shade of brown people usually grimace at. Her nose is weird. Noses in general are weird, but hers exceeds the usual amount of weirdness. One side is smooth and the other seems jagged, like the cartilage was all pushed up on that one side against something hard to make a crease. Her lips are no interesting shade of pink. They’re different enough to be noticeable with cracks even when doused in lip gloss. They’re some failed mixture of pink and plum. Her face is too round. It lacks any kind of cute sharpness to them. You can see where it tries to have definition but the fat of her cheeks prevents her cheek bones from being visible. Her jaw bone is also round. It’s too round. Her chin is even too round. It looks as if someone just rolled a ball of clay and squished it against her face. The few freckles on her cheeks even are ugly. Instead of a smattering of freckles dusted lightly across the bridge of her unfortunate nose they are sporadically placed around her lips, nose, and cheeks, and very dark. Her mother told her the one by her lip is called a “beauty mark” when it emerged when she was three years old. She told her that Marilyn Monroe had one. It was enough to console her until the next one appeared. It was either one or a cute cluster. There was no in-between, which was what she had and it made her ugly.
That was just her face. Her hair was her one redeeming feature. It was a chocolate brown with natural red highlights only visible in the sun and no matter what she did it never tangled and always fell perfectly in a frame around her face. She was lucky it was so perfect. She had to grow it out long so it could make her stupid fat face seem thinner. Her body was another thing. While she had been blessed with 36C breasts her hips were only 34inches around and her waist would fluctuate between 24 and 26 inches but even at 24 she still looked fat. Her legs were large around with tiny baby feet at the end of them. Her arms weren’t fat, but they weren’t slender, and her hands were the size of a child’s. Her body looked like it belonged on someone much larger than what the measuring tape said.