Learning to Love

November 14, 2011
By Anonymous

Nobody really knows who I am. Then again, no one has really bothered to ask. They usually just assume. They take one glance at you and think they know your entire life story. Well, they don’t. Their accusations are ALWAYS wrong. They never knew how I really feel or who I really am. They never knew that the smile I painted on my face everyday was just a big charade, and on the inside, I felt down right horrible. Some people despise you for being what they wish they were, when in actuality, it’s the other way around. They all just assume.

I guess I’m a shallow person. I have always hated the way I looked. Every time I looked in the mirror, there was always something wrong with my body, usually my weight. Ever since I was little, and even to this day, I constantly compared myself to my sister, Susan. I admired her small frame, adorable features and graceful movements. I loathed my chunky figure, large head, and clumsy strut. Knowing there wasn’t much I can do to change myself angered me even more. I despised her, yet never admitting it. This resulted in me bullying her, a vent for my shallow frustrations. I became arrogant as I grew older, masking my own insecurities while poking fun at others.

In eighth grade, I began starving myself. I began with not eating one day, then eating the next. I felt I wasn’t making any progress, so I started not eating for up to 3 days in a row. Hunger was unbearable, and I HAD to eat. Instead, I would snack on small things through out the day. For example, A yogurt for lunch and an apple for dinner. My mom began to get suspicious, so I would wait and ‘eat’ dinner after everyone was done, and throw my food out or not eat at all. I threw myself into sports, which only made me more insecure, especially when my fit team mates would pig out after a game or practices. I loathed them and their super fast metabolisms. I wasn’t full aware of how dangerous my diet was or how dangerous it would soon get. Toward the end of 8th grade year, I was determined to get thinner. This time I had a new, less suspicious plan.

As I finished the rest of my steak, I rinsed my dish and sat it carefully in the dishwasher. I tip toed to the downstairs bathroom. I locked the bathroom door behind me and tied my hair in a pony tail. I slowly lifted the toilet seat, and inhale deeply. I stuck my right index finger down my throat and gagged. Nothing happened. I tried once again and my undigested dinner spilled unto the toilet bowl. I hated myself every time I did it, yet I couldn’t stop. I flushed the toilet, washed my hands and brushed my teeth. Yes, in ninth grade, I was bulimic. This became a routine of mine. Some days I would just pig out, but not often. I never told anyone but Susan, who urged me to stop. She threatened to tell mom, but I knew she wouldn’t. My eating disorder came to a halt when my older sister, caught me in the act when Susan and I visited her for a few weeks in Canton, MI. She sat me down and we had a long conversation on my problem. I explained to her why I did it and how I truly felt. She didn’t yell or get mad. She told me how I was slowly hurting my body and I wasn’t loosing any weight by starving myself. Since then, I began loving myself for me and not caring about my weight or physical appearance, but more about the inner beauty. I am a work in progress, still learning to love myself.

The author's comments:
I was assigned to write a memoir in class and I wrote about my struggles with myself a few years ago. And yes, it sounds cliche but,I learned that more than anything, It is important to love yourself

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