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I tried to be Perfect
No matter what I did, no matter how I tried, I was never
perfect. When I looked in the mirror and stared at that pitiful
reflection, all I saw was a fat hopeless mess.
Breakfast would come around. I wouldn't eat. I would sit at school feeling my stomach twist and convulse but I only told myself it was a pain
heading towards perfection. My grandmother always said, "Beauty is pain".
Ding! Lunch would come. I would sit and watch the others eat. My
stomach would churn and my head felt dizzy. I would pinch my wrist if I
considered to buy something to eat.
Ding! School's over and it's time to return to our homes. Dinner would
soon arrive and my mother would ask if I wanted something to eat. I would
say no, but when I saw what she cooked, smelled what came out of the oven,
my body could no longer resist. I would scarf down my meal. My stomach
would get sick and bloated. I would go to the bathroom and stand before
the mirror in my skin. I was fat. I was ugly. I ate, how dare I do such
a thing.
So I would punish myself. I would beat my thighs until they bruised. I
would snap a rubber band at my wrist until welts went up and down my arm.
This went on for years. All through middle school, all through high school. I didn't have anorexia, because I wasn't freakishly thin. I was
considered average to others, but to me, I was obese.
After my years in high school were over, I discovered the comfortable
atmosphere of college. I did lose the weight I wanted, but in a healthy
way. I realized how foolish I was in my past years. Yes, there is a
history of easy weight gain in my family, and so it's something I'm going
to have to watch over, just not like how I used to.
While I went through those trials, did I ever receive any help? No. No
one ever knew. I finally read about the dangers of anorexia and eating
disorders and I finally felt some reality strike.
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