Monday, 30 May 2016

C for Comparing, L for Losing

Maybe it won't be forever.

But at this age and in this place being what and who I am, my sense of self-worth and most of my confidence can only come from how I look and how physically attractive others view me.

The steps that I have to take are obvious, depressing, and painful, but doable. It's boiling chicken breast for dinner instead of ordering from Pizza Hut. It's looking back fondly on the chicken breast I had the night before when I have to skip dinner tonight.
It's downing a mug of lemon water for breakfast and feeling my tongue chafe against squeaky teeth, firmly telling myself that it's a supermodel breakfast full of antioxidants.
It's chanting fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck like a mantra when trying to complete a set of ab exercises, or swatting at mosquitoes and wiping off sweat simultaneously while jogging in the hot sun. It's being a crazed consumer for the most popular beauty fads, so I can look like the best version of myself.

Then there are the unchangeable truths.

No matter how you look at it, her face is more beautiful.
She's so tiny, her feet are probably smaller than his hands, she has a waist his hands could span.
Her bone structure is on fleek.
Her lips are full and she has a perfect cupid's bow.

I hate being intimidated by girls, and yet I am.

Those insta-models, those girls who delight the eyes simply by existing. They're two years younger, four years younger, sometimes six years younger, god forbid they be eight years younger. I don't envy their lives or their possessions. I have no interest in their lifestyles of glamour. It's their pure physical perfection I wish for.

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