Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

To be honest, when I look in the mirror I have never been happy with how I look.  I always seem to find the flaw.  Somehow, amongst all of my freckles, I can spot my zits and blackheads.  There I stare at them in the mirror, disgusted with my unclear skin.  When I see the reflection of my face in my car door, all I see is my double chin.  Sometimes, I even see a man face, one with a broad chin and face, sometimes that is all I can see is a manly looking face. Looking in the full length mirror is the worst.  I will stand in front of it analyzing the size of stomach, from each side that is all I see is how big is my stomach. I try all different stances, to the front with a foot posed, to the side, to the other side, to the front again.  Anytime I have a chance, I lift up my shirt to stare at my stomach.  It feels like an addiction, no matter which mirror or where I am at, I am constantly looking at the size of my stomach. Sometimes, in the right lighting, angle and with makeup I actually feel pretty good about myself, but it just isn’t often enough.  My boyfriend compliments me all the time.  Just this morning, he rolled over and said “God you are so sexy!”  I looked at the frazzled hair from the corner of my eye and felt my face was all crunched up into my pillows. What was he talking about!? This happened all too often.  He tells me frequently how beautiful I am, how sexy I am, that how he is the luckiest guy in the world to have the prettiest woman he has ever seen.  Anytime he says anything of the sort I automatically think, That can’t be true. How can he think I’m that pretty? I’m fat. I’m not wearing any makeup, I’m covered in zits.  I always reply out loud too, “I’m not pretty, I’m fat!” Why couldn’t I see what he was seeing? Why did I throw away his comments like trash? These comments were so sincere and wonderful and I just let them bounce off of me. Why was I so quick to always let the other comments stick, all the nasty put downs anyone in my whole entire life had ever said to me?  Yet, here I am in the midst of love and support and I push it all away!

I began to reflect, as I often do.  I have not felt happy with my looks for a majority of my life. In fact, I have based how good looking I am on how others perceive me first. This began at a very young age, all the way back to elementary school. Of course, I was teased for having red hair and pale white skin, and my freckles.  Automatically, I believed that I was weird looking.  In high school it just got worse, it went from carrot top and freckle face to fire crotch and fire in the hole.  How embarrassing!  People were talking about the color of my pubes! It seemed very odd to me actually, I remember thinking why are they concerned with the color of my crotch hairs?  I even had a guy tell me once, he would never, ever be with me sexually because I had red hair and pubes.  Well, okay.  So then, I added to my belief that red hair is definitely not sexy.  I compared myself to all my friends and those who received attention from guys.  Girls with blonde or brown hair, with big boobs got the guys.  That is when I became more and more promiscuous.  It began my first year of high school.  I would go to parties, get drunk, and flash my tits.  Then it turned into more attention grabbing behaviors.  Fooling around with guys, flirting, desperately seeking attention.  I wrote an entire journal about my promiscuous behaviors throughout my entire high school days. How many guys could I get off, how many guys could I get to fool around with me, and how many guys could I get with in a night? I became addicted to promiscuity, to the attention I received from guys who thought they could get some “action” if they hung out with me.  I don’t even remember the scenarios that I wrote about, or who I wrote about.  I kept track of how many guys I was sexual with, like some kind of trophy.  I was so completely disconnected from who I was.  My soul left, my body became a vacant space absorbing anything that it came into contact with it.  One thing is for sure, these acts didn’t make me feel good about myself in any way. But I wasn’t really attuned to that fact, but I continued to write about my sadness, and how bad I felt about myself. These acts left me with an outward approach to feeling beautiful and an unhealthy way to find my self-worth. I created a trail of habits and thought patterns about my self-worth.  It doesn’t matter what the “mirror” on the wall says, or has said in the past. It was time to learn that what I thought and what I say, is what matters first.


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