[Wow, it sure has been awhile since I’ve posted on here. Whoops. This post is very different from my first 3 posts. It is in third person and deals with the idea of body image and how we view ourselves daily. It is written from my point of view; therefore, it’s extremely personal. I struggle with obtaining a positive outlook on myself as I know many others do, so I hope to help anyone out there who can’t quite see their beauty. You are beautiful and deserve to love yourself instead of tear yourself down.]
Tears well up in her eyes as she sits on the floor looking at the reflection staring back at her, thinking about how she will never compare to those around her – the girls who can catch the attention of any guy without even batting their mascara-coated eyelashes. She wonders how she can ever be worth the attention of anyone since she never does anything out of the ordinary with her appearance. She never wears makeup, she barely does her hair, and her outfits are always below average.
Her brown hair falls around her face as she wipes the tears that finally escape her eyes. The voices that she absolutely despises begin to rise to the surface.
“Those pimples really stick out, you know. Maybe you should cover them up with some concealer.”
“Your hair is truly pitiful. Maybe you should do something with it now and then.”
“Look at that stomach! Haven’t you seen those girls that have flat ones?”
The voices fill her mind at this point, pushing any positive thought she has out of the way; therefore, all that exists are the negative ones tearing away at her until there is nothing left but a pile of dust waiting to be blown away in the wind.
“Stop,” she whispers hoarsely as more tears escape.
“I know you like that guy, but he’s never going to be into you. Not looking like that.”
She shuts her eyes to make them stop, but unfortunately this does not help one bit. In fact, this only makes them louder and more powerful.
“The girl he likes is so much prettier than you. She has long, curvy hair, and shining blue eyes that look just like the ocean. They are much better than your dull, green ones.”
“Quit it,” she says, gritting her teeth. “Stop comparing me to other people.”
“Please, darling, you can never compare to those girls. You will always be below them.”
Her hands are now covering her ears, but once again the voices only become stronger.
After a few more degrading comments, she finally realizes what she needs to do. Instead of locking herself within the tower of her mind, she needs to find the key to let herself out. Suddenly, she opens her eyes and removes her hands from her ears. She removes herself from the floor of her room and takes the mirror and tosses it the ground, shattering it into a million pieces.
As she stares down at the shards of glass littered beneath her, she rests her hands on her stomach and then moves them to her face, her hair, and finally lays them above her heart.
“I may not be like those other girls, but that does not mean I am beneath them. I am on the same level as them because I am my own as they are their own. We each have our flaws, but they do not define us, and they certainly do not degrade us.”