Going Under Cover

Chapter 22

22

Insecurities.

They are quite useless really when you think about it. Why were they needed? Why did we have to feel inferior all of the time? Sometimes, I don't understand human behaviour one bit.

Just think about it. We stand in front of the mirror and stare and feel disgusted by what we see. Every single curve and bump, the lumps and the rolls of fat, we see them and hate ourselves for it. And what exactly is the point of it all?

Every morning we get up and wash and clean, which is completely reasonable. Taking care of yourself is important, there's no question of that. But, then we go and pile a load of chemicals and makeup on top of that. Only then can we smile at ourselves and say 'you look good'.

But why can't we say that when we look at a clear face? Why do we need to cover up what we were given, what we were meant to show to the world? We hide ourselves behind something else until we believe that is our true self. How silly we are as a species.

And that was how I was feeling as I stood in my room, right in the centre under the beam of the light above. I could spot everything that was 'wrong' of me, every single imperfection. I hated how I was looking, I hated the smiling fat on my stomach, I hated my thighs and their width and I hated the flap that was forming on my arms. I felt like a bird as they flapped about whenever I moved.

At twenty three, I realized that I had really let myself go. How sad was that? I'm this young and so unfit and unhappy with my appearance. 

I thought of my mother and my sisters and how slim they were. I thought about their large breast, despite their fakeness, and I compared them to mine. Small and slightly perky, it was probably the only part of my body that I was scolding at the moment. They somehow, unlike every other part of me, continued to defy gravity, a fact that I was very pleased about.

That helped my mood a tad, but it soon deflated again when I took noted on my current situation again, and realized that my efforts were completely useless.

1. I was standing practically half naked in my room (and when had it become 'my' room exactly?)

2. I was currently stuck in this position

And 3. The dress would not move another inch up my body despite my efforts.

I gave up and tried to wiggle out again. It was slightly stuck though, right at the large curve. And it was very uncomfortable as the zip was now sticking into me. Also, I'm pretty sure that very same zip cut a petite, little rip in my tights.

Fortunately, after a few more moment of struggling, it moved from the spot and fell down the rest of my legs with ease. If only the start had been that simple? I kicked the dress away from my feet and it landed in a small heap, just feet away from me, composed of other useless dresses.

They weren't necessarily 'useless', in fact some were very pretty and elegant looking. I, though, failed to meet their cruel standard of beauty and they refused to compromise one bit. None of them would fit, none could make it over my darned hips. If only I hadn't gained those two sizes last year, they would have fitted just fine. But no, I had to be addicted to those fecking packets of 'Bourbon' biscuits. I was mentally slapping my head and wishing that I could go back in time just to whack them out my twenty-two year old hands and warn me not to be so greedy when it came to treats.

I turned then to inspect my last few options. Three were there, all black, all equally as drab. But I wouldn't mind that, as long as they were able to come about my waist, then I would wear just about anything. A sad but true fact.