Wednesday, March 12, 2008
I'm not having a good night. I feel fat and hideous. What I would give to feel content for longer than a minute... I hate to admit that I am affected by it. There are so many important things to worry about in the world and this is hardly one of them. I am well aware of that. I am well aware of the hypocrisy. I also know that being bombarded with images of so-called perfection on a daily basis has a way of making a girl feel like she should be thinner. Perhaps comparison is inevitable? I can't seem to control my mind. As much as I know that the woman I am is not defined by what I look like, I'm not going to lie, I worry. Man, I have big boobs, my arms are a little chubby, I don't have 5 inches between my thighs, and my stomach isn't immune to bloating. My awareness of these facts makes my body a backdrop for my everyday life. My stomach, back, butt and hair are in my peripheral vision, not my sole focus, but definitely tickling at my consciousness. I try to remind myself that healthy girls don't envy other women's small frames or sunken cheeks. They don't feel guilty for not being as thin, or muscular as a magazine clipping. But here I am, insecurity-laden, nervous and wishing that I could become Miss Skin 'N Bones. Here I am, flipping through Victoria's Secret catalogues wishing that I could order the bodies instead of the clothes.