Shallow

I'm starting to realize that I'm living in an actual nightmare.


In what way? you may ask. Granted I have more luxuries and exposures to cultures than a lot of other people have, but what if I told you that's all for naught?


Every single day I'm reminded - regardless of how good I'm feeling about myself on that particular day - that I can't be better than a bimbo of a hot girl standing next to me in butt-cheek-revealing hot pants and her tits falling out of her top.


Sex sells. It really does.


In a lot of ways, what talent you have is useless unless you dress up - not in a good quality pressed shirt with starched collars with professional-looking trousers.


No.


Why would anyone take notice of you - regardless of your skills and talents - unless you dress to impress? In the most subtly revealing piece of clothing that you have?


Day after day after day, I'm reminded that skinny is indeed better. Don't care if you're born with this body, skinny is better.


Oh, you're born with wide hips? Too bad you're a little on the chunky side...


No. The harsh reality is that even when people say all shapes are beautiful, confront them with someone who isn't a slender hourglass - everyone will point out something.


"Lose some weight." "I see you have a belly there, I have one too!" "Are your arms muscle or fat?"


Oversensitive? Maybe. Insecure? Absolutely.


Love thyself for thyself is impossible.


"Just ignore what they say, you're beautiful!" they tell me.


I was raised to listen to everyone. I was conditioned to satisfy everyone. I grew up doing everything I can to try to please everyone around me.


For the entirety of my life, what defined me among friends and family was mostly my body.


CNY of 2013 I had an uncle say that I finally lost weight.


"Finally"?


All the comments all throughout my life haven't exactly been puppy licks. Even if I manage to deflect every detonation thrown at me, don't you think they left some sort of indentation?


What with all the girls now... those with actual slender bodies desired by men everywhere, looking in the bathroom mirror and pointing out their "chunky thighs" and "bulging bellies".


Oh, you girls don't know the real struggle.


I've tried flash diets. I've tried anorexia. I've tried long, intense hours at the gym.


But all it takes is one small meal to render all that useless.


It's coming to the point where I feel that being hungry is feeling good. That depriving myself of nature's call feels so good. Perhaps even better than what's being laid on the table.


Having back pains and having every joint and muscle ache beyond comprehension is like an achievement for me ... until I don't see the results.


Yes, I pretty much value myself by how I look. Which, in my book, I'm not even in the book. It's shallow, but welcome to my reality.