My hand grasped the golden-brown leathered edges and flung it open. I looked back on the old high-school pictures. A girl embarked on a quest with a single motive; to be beautiful. But I wasn't, the opposite in fact. I believed it than and I believe it now. We would completely disagree on why though; I thought I was fat expanding on my hips, belly and thighs. That was my altered perception; What I was truly looking at was a girl whose cheekbones were breaking out of her skull, skinny jeans and skin tight tops still baggy. A girl craving for food but overtaken by the desire to lose weight.
I flicked back a few pages to see before this desire took over her, and I honestly couldn't see how I convinced myself to do this. I wasn't skinny, but not fat either. My curls sprung out at a slight awkward angle over my emerald orbs, my freckles spread like stars over my slightly too big nose. Far from perfection, yet beautiful.
How it came to that is a blur: Modals, peer pressure, media, popularity. some of the many factors that lead me to my breaking point. To create inner demons to rise up, for me to fight or give in. I never had the strength to fight. It started off as simple dieting, no snacks after six, replacing unhealthy drinks with water and sugary treats only allowed on Sunday. But I never saw that as enough, so I cut more and more out, resulting in only a glass of water a day and maybe a lettuce leaf here and there.
I always thought that if I lost weight people would accept me and at first they did. I was accepted into the popular group with open arms, I loved it, for once they treated me as a human being; they stopped making comments about my weight and I loved it. But all good things come to an end, they would gossip behind my back. That was nothing compared to Mia. Mia and I were the closest, we exchanged dieting tips and hung out all the time. That was until I found out what she was doing: She made a fake account, started sending me horrible messages, created a hate group, everything under the sun.
I was getting extremely weak those days, I couldn't fight back, I couldn't defend myself, I couldn't defend my case, I could barely do anything. We split up, I stopped contact with anyone, I dieted more, that was all my body could take. Within a week I was covered in a white sheet in a room smelling of anti-septic. I never made it, that was ten years ago. I closed the photobook as it faded into a golden glitter, shimmering into the shadows. I turned my back knowing I may never see the memories again and headed towards the white light.
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Any good?
