The Defintion of Weird

March 11, 2010
By Anonymous

Confidence envelops me as I walk the halls in third grade, until Allison walks by. She is the definition of the perfect image; stick straight shiny hair, bony everywhere, big eyes that bat innocence, and of course her flawless bleach white smile. I am the definition of weird; big curly hair, skin sunk between ribs that meet Himalaya hips, a very in-your-face butt, topped with a crooked grin and eyes that scream troublemaker. But I wasn’t always like that.

The heat really hit me full force in sixth grade. Drilled with names like ‘thunder thighs’ and ‘Himalaya hips’ on a daily basis fueled the want to shrink myself to complete bone. Between the magazines, other girls, and straight up peer pressure, anorexia took over.

One of the many times I gazed with awe at Allison and her posse, I realized they were all the exact same; wiry toothpicks robotically mimicking society’s idea of perfection in flesh. The epiphany smacked down my success of stripping away all my fat as I confronted my reflection. Stick straight hair draped over my sunken face that was disguised by the immense amount of much too sluttish makeup. One solitary question arose as I stared into my own bloodshot eyes; who was I? A mere imitation of the so- called gorgeousness every other girl was desperately trying to obtain was the only answer I could come up with.

Beauty is fleeting. The temporary glam fades into wrinkles that will crease the mask of makeup caked on everyday. Though plastic can replace the wrinkles, it cannot replace the stomach-charred esophagus caused by bulimia. Or the bones, desperately wanted visible, anorexia left brittle, landing a ticking clock for swelling fat deposits while a previously anorexic person wastes away in a wheelchair.

My transformation from anorexic to an un-neglected appetite was slow. Deciding status quo wasn’t a good enough reason to sacrifice my health and my identity, I paced myself and began eating again. I quit wearing makeup and found mousse to be the perfect manager for my wild curly hair.

Many teenage girls relentlessly conform their identities to match society’s projected image of perfection. All in strive for the self- acceptance they will never receive because they lost themselves amidst their obsession with everyone else’s approval. The majority of the female population is trying to stay afloat, but ultimately drowning in the sea of boredom and regulations for their own bodies, getting pushed further and further under with every glance of unspoken criticism.

Personally, I believe the strongest, often most disregarded, form of gorgeousness blossoms from individuality, which is what society labels as the definition of weird.

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