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Trying to be Perfect
I look at myself in the mirror. I see my face upon the shattered glass that lay beneath my feet. I’m ugly, lonely, tired, and weak. I’m weakened by the sorrow memory, the loneliness I endure, the pain I suffer. My tummy cringes in disgust. I am ugly. My imperfection reflects on my imperfect personality. I’m not beautiful, instead I am a beast. I’m not harmful nor am I fearful…. I guess you could call me peculiar.
I feel as though people look at me differently. I use to be fat; kids would tease me, and make small comments quietly to themselves. I knew deep in my soul I had to change for the better. I exercised try to eat healthy, but it just never seemed to work. My life seemed to be going hay wired, I felt depressed and lonely. No one wanted to talk to me, except for a couple of my overweight friends who had the same problem as I. We all knew what it is like to be an outcast in a school that was based on looks and appearance. We all knew what it felt like to be rubbed off the shoulder like a piece of lint.
And I would dearly dream of me becoming skinny, and having a regular life. I dreamt of wearing a two-piece bathing suit, and wearing the nicest designer clothing. I dreamt of guys flirting with me, inviting me to a parties. I also dreamt of girls being envious of me, as I am to them. But I only came close to that by just looking at magazines that are filled with skinny twig models in a Victoria Secret catalog.
I was disgusted at myself for letting my body go, for overeating and substituting food as a tool to comfort myself when I felt lonely. And whenever I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw an ugly pig wearing sweats and having two chins. I was hideous, and unattractive.
During the summer, I would try to exercise and eat right, but nothing seemed to work. Then I confided in the only tool that would make me the skinny girl I yearned to be, which was throwing up and refusing to eat. My parents thought I was eating since they were never home, I didn’t eat and if I ate, I would just go to the bathroom and throw up. I was addicted to it, and knew this wasn’t healthy but I couldn’t stop. The only reason why I continued was because of the fast results. I now looked at myself in the mirror, and was satisfied with myself.
After summer, school started and I arrived in a new body and a new attitude. I fit in the crowd, and received so much attention from my teachers and fellow peers. I loved it, I love the new Lain. The pretty Lain, the skinny Lain. Soon I didn’t know that this new Lain would destroy me, and the people who I loved.
I became addicted, and I became anorexic. The attention I was receiving was the ugly and boney Lain. People didn’t want to talk to me because all I had was bones to show. The clothes I put on were too big, even though they were just a size one. And during those mourning full days, I would look at myself in the mirror.
I looked at my long and sorrow face, it couldn’t handle my skinless body, there were only bones exposed. If only I knew that this path I have chosen for myself would kill my mother’s spirit day by day, and my father’s pride over me, and destroyed my relationships with my siblings and friends I wouldn’t have killed the fun Lain. I wouldn’t have nearly killed myself just to look like something I knew I am not.
Now I spend my lonely days at a clinic trying to get help. I refuse because the only thing that I want now is to die in shame and repulsion. I don’t deserve to live the way I do, but I know I have to pay the consequences for the actions I undertake. I live with the memory of overweight Lain, and live with the memory of skinny Lain. Now I must bear the reality of anorexic Lain. And every time my mother comes to visit, she sits there looking at me like a stranger. Deep inside I know my mother is ashamed and embarrassed looking at me, and being me being her daughter. I don’t blame her for despising the person I was or still “am.” I know there isn’t anything I could change in the past, but I know there was hope and change in the future. Now my goal is to be healthy Lain.
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Well in the second paragraph, after "I used to be fat; kids would tease me, and make small comments quietly to themselves," you could possibly add something. For example, maybe start off with, "I remember the time in second grade when I first became Billy's target. Lunch was over, and I ate all of mine, as usual. The air was humid and as I got in line to go outside, I felt my stomach full of extra weight bounce with each step as summer's temperature caused sweat to run down my back. Billy looked at me and laughed, cutting me in line and then poked my stomach, taunting, 'Lain is fat! Lain is fat! F-a-t.'" Our writing styles are different, but do you get what I mean? I feel like adding a detailed memory would give the character more personality.
And about the whole weight thing, I had the same issue. My mom would always tell me how fat I was, especially when she'd take me to try on clothes and nothing would fit me. I'd wear one piece bathing suits and all the skinny girls would, as your story says, make side comments. It's hard to forget things like that.