A Bone to Pick

Skin Deep

Just to be clear: my anorexic journey didn't begin here but the following 6 years gives a context as to what would've acted as exacerbating factors that provided the slight boost needed to push me over the edge, to egg me onwards despite the blinding truth of the harm I'm inflicting upon myself.

So let's begin any story with an introduction... 

I'm a very average looking  girl - not one you'd call pretty or give a second glance to. Usual black hair, brown eyes, bespectacled and tallish by Asian standards. I was not athletic in any way, preferring to read over run. I was neither fat nor skinny, but within a healthy weight range. In my family, I was the happy kid - my Chinese name is translated to mean dawn so you can see how I'm supposed to be all sunshine and happiness, which I actually was (mostly). I'm fortunate enough to have a loving family, a roof over my head, enough to eat and all the privilege a first-world country girl can receive. Everyday after school I would be able to come home to a delicious home-cooked meal and chat with my mom about my day, be it the good days or bad. I was happy. I didn't have to make tough decisions regarding life or death; didn't need to worry about my family's financial situation and bills; didn't need to worry about anything except trying to solve that stupid Physics worksheet. 

All was well.

You know the saying "Beauty is only skin deep"? I do too - but when you're an introverted average looking girl studying in an all-girls school filled with so many pretty faces around you, that saying is full of shit. I was surrounded by girls who were beautiful, with flawless skin and charming smiles. The sporty ones had such slim bodies that were toned, their skin was tanned to a gorgeous milk-chocolate brown. The academic ones were really at the top of their game - getting all As and distinctions, winning quizzes and competitions. The all rounders were the worst - pretty, talented and smart. That is not to say that the girls were mean. And I think to me, that was the most crushing thing - they were faultless even in character. 

They were posh; they were beautiful; they were grace; they were perfection. 

Meanwhile, here I was. My grades were slightly above average, not due to any genius gene circulating in my system, but due to late nights practising and memorising. I had severe acne flare-ups that left pitted scars on my face, and half the time my face was red and inflamed due to the heat and humidity of sunny Singapore. I tried everything I could - all the face washes, exfoliations, even taking medication to try and calm my acne and stop the scarring. Yeah, no. My face was basically Mars with multiple craters, and I was so self-conscious about it. Adding on to that, I had a slightly protruding lower jaw, so my self-consciousness pretty much skyrocketed when I compared myself to these girls. I wasn't very athletic either, so I didn't have a nice toned body shape compared to them, which again, made me feel worse about myself. Even though I knew beauty came in all shapes and sizes, and that it's the inside that truly matters, I couldn't see past the superficial surface. 

To me, beauty was the surface.

So, you can only imagine the 4 years I struggled in trying to convince myself that looks didn't matter. My self-confidence, already quite low, just plummeted to the negatives. I was hyperaware of how I appeared in public. Could people see my acne, the disgusting scars and craters? Could people tell that my arms were so untoned and my skin so untanned? Could people see how shapeless I was, how my uniform just made me look like I was wearing a potato sack? And being a typical teenager, I was overly conscious of what boys would think of me. Being in a girls school truly did not help my case - all the pretty girls had boyfriends or handsome guy-friends from neighbouring schools they hung out with. Me? I only had my close group of friends to chill with. Whenever I saw the other girls hanging out with their guy friends, I'd feel a pang in my chest, cause I'd just think to myself "Well, you're obviously too ugly to get any guys.".

I hated going out in public because I believed that I was ugly. 

Sorry, let me correct that. 

Hideous. 

I didn't want people to see my face - even I didn't want to see my face. I hated looking into mirrors. They only reflected my face back to me, bespectacled and scarred. And I guess this thought was only further reinforced by the words hurled at me by my 2nd brother. In periods of anger, he would call me "fat", "ugly", "shit-face" and more. He'd keep telling me "Who would wanna be friends with you?" or "You're so ugly no one would want to date you" with a sneer. I didn't really believe his insults, and neither did I take it to heart. I wasn't insulted in the least, since I've heard it all before year after year. But, I think somewhere along the way, these insults which were repeated overtime niggled into my subconscious and hid away. They were just lying dormant in my brain, waiting for the right moment to spring "SURPRISE!" at my lowest moment and finally pierce me. And that moment came when my anorexia struck.

Did my parents know I felt this way about my looks? Sort of.

I have mentioned to my mom about it in passing before - but I made it seem like flippant comments. I didn't want them to worry so much about me as they already had their own worries to handle. Years of Chinese upbringing ingrained in me the need for the 12 values (filial piety, responsibility etc)., that I just pasted on a smile and went through each day as if nothing was amiss. 

I didn't confide to my close friends either regarding how I felt due to past experiences of betrayal - once bitten, twice shy. No, I didn't believe in best friends forever, and that if you wanted to get through life, you had to rely on yourself.

So. All was well.