My mind permeated with reflection as I stared longingly at the once fragile but now slightly fissured phone screen. From the multiple years I have endured this outdated, long-lasting phone, I am quite surprised by its functioning condition. The display filled with the bright and vibrant colors from my Instagram feed. Illustrating the bodies of multiple women, they all had a shared common factor, their beauty. Small waists, toned arms, and thigh gaps were what these women retained. These women were gorgeous. These women were happy. I bet they were happy with themselves, happy with their lives. But why were they happy and I was not? What was I missing? Beauty. It was not fair. The current thoughts of my own body were ripping apart my mind as I just wished to be beautiful like them. If I wasn’t beautiful then I clearly wasn’t, or would ever be happy. If I wasn’t beautiful, then I certainly wasn’t deserving. Deserving of praise or even deserving of love. I was going to be beautiful. To be the type of beautiful where your eyes glisten in the moonlight, or where your skin glows in the sunlight. I will be beautiful. One way or another, I will change. Change into someone worthy of love, worthy of happiness. Ideas forming. Mind racing. This race however, I never should have started.

“Come down for dinner please. You don’t want your food to become cold.”

My mother is an amazing cook. It’s true. I did not want my food to become cold. In fact, I did not want my food at all. What was once a meal to look forward to now became an idea in the past. I was going to start now. I did not need the food. I needed to become beautiful. Hungry to bed, hungry to rise, makes a girl a smaller size. The grilled chicken salad with the amazing homemade dressing mom makes will taste better when I am beautiful. For now, the trash can will have to enjoy my meals.

I was hungry. Hungry for food. Hungry for beauty. Hungry for happiness. But I wasn’t going to let my temptations and thoughts ruin my soon-to-be beautiful body. Not yet at least. Not until I saw changes, visible changes. 

I needed an excuse to get far away from the kitchen. Homework. Homework is always the perfect excuse to skip out on a meal. I see it in movies all the time. The mom calls down for dinner, the kid is too caught up in schoolwork, the kid says they will eat later, the mom doesn’t question it. It’s a perfect excuse! My hunger was strong but my mind was stronger. 

With the new found time I had to myself upstairs, I used it to research what felt like unachievable goals. Pictures. Pictures were what I needed to see, to help me visualize who I wanted to become. Less so who she wanted to become, but more of what I wanted to become.

My same old,fissured phone now felt a little different. It felt as if I was holding an object of betrayal. The phone, providing me with ideas, with pictures, with people, of who I was just not meant to become. But I didn’t care. Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. I instead cared too much for all the wrong reasons. I cared enough to look past all of the reasons to put my phone down and instead scrolled through, watched, and liked all of these appearances of perfection. Small waists, toned arms, thigh gaps. Absolute perfection. This was all I needed to be happy. 

“Hurry up and join me downstairs for breakfast. You know it is the most important meal of the day.” The food was not important. Not the sizzling sound of the crispy bacon being fried, or even the perfect, fluffy pancakes just waiting to be doused in syrup. None of it. What was important was becoming beautiful. Beauty. Beauty was important. I needed to get away from the food. I just needed an excuse. An excuse to miss once again, another meal. I have to be at school early to study for an exam. Perfect. I will just tell my mom that I will eat something at school. Even more perfect. Perfect little lies.

As the day continued on, becoming beautiful seemed to now be the only thing on my teenage mind. It was a mental race to beauty. This race was hard. It was not for the weak. Only the strongest are the ones who will win the race. And the prize: happiness. Fat stays longer than flavor. I was starting to believe that this race of mine was not going to be finished anytime soon. I needed to feel the grandeur of my accomplishments sooner. The accomplishments I needed to be renowned in order to feel a small sense of validation. Something more needed to be done in order to transform my undeserving and ignoble pile of skin and bone into someone more commendable. Someone who actually deserves happiness.

I remember watching a video on my phone earlier and decided to try something a little unconventional. If I try what this girl is doing, then this will be my window to beauty. Or maybe like a shortcut to the finish line. Inside my bathroom, I felt a new feeling inside of me. Just like a flower, I would soon blossom into what will be perfection. This feeling. This feeling was intense. It gave me the sense of hope that this will be the shortcut to finish my race, my race to pure bliss. As the toilet filled, so did my excitement. This was working. It was actually working! Filled with what little food had been in my stomach before, the toilet consumed all that I had purged. Purging the disgusting food felt almost as good as knowing I was purging away my insecurity. Soon I will be happy.

My shortcut to happiness soon became my addiction. It became my top priority. And you know what the best part was? Being allowed to enjoy the food and also later get rid of that same food with no consequences. The spaghetti and homemade meatballs never tasted better! What an exciting way to eat and release.

Looking for inspiration for my new beauty goal, I came across a post of a woman. This woman however, was different from the others. She had a stomach. She had stretch marks. She did not have a thigh gap. But this woman was beautiful. Why was she beautiful though and I was not? Reading the caption on her post, I realized where I had all gone wrong.

Beauty is seen only when confidence is shown.

Beauty is not measured by the measuring tape or the scale. Beauty is measured by how you feel. It is measured on who you are as a person and who you want to become. I want to be a person with confidence. Not someone who is measured by the number of inches on my waist. I was ready to finish this impossible race of mine. I want to start a new, healthy race. A race to confidence. I did not need the number on a scale to define me as a person, or to put a label on my character. I already know who I am. I am happy. I am beautiful. I am deserving. I am human!