Perfect Sciences

Six months ago, I looked happy. I was the girl with a plastered smile and giggly high-toned voice that could fool anyone. I walked with the a confidence that elites couldn’t duplicate. A boy on my mind and friends at my fingertips, people couldn’t see past my porcelain set of skin even if they tried. I brushed off my problems, ate minimally and looked as though I had it all under control. People were jealous of my “non-problematic” life.  Makeup always done, eyeliner applied perfectly from daily practice. They were jealous of my looks, my charm. I seemed fine, better than fine. I looked as though I was on top of the world.

Fast forward to now and look at me, the girl who seemed “fine.” My bottom lip is chewed up from too many anxious nights. I rarely see my friends anymore, I don’t know who my friends are anymore. The delights and curses of food, the denial of gaining weight, have taken their place. Crying myself to sleep is now a habit, even though tears were a foreign territory to be avoided at all costs a few months back; I didn’t want to seem weak. Putting on makeup has become useless. I spend all of my time at home, anyway. The porcelain wall has broken down and the true personality of the heartbroken now shines through.

Let me tell you something. The person who I am now, she’s always been there. I’ve never truly been okay, never had the confidence that I seemed to have. I’ve always had problems, my binge eating habits were hidden from the public. I’ve never had it under control. I got sick of pretending after a while. I can’t hide from myself anymore, even though I had it down to the perfect science.

Perfect sciences don’t exist.. Not for me, at least.

Reviews

[Faulkner]

Interesting account. Would love to read an enhanced version of this with more details of the psychology behind this, but this is excellent as is, as well. Lovely write!

[Steve]

This is wonderfully insightful and fun to read!!

[Sav]

Ugh, as always, beautiful. ;-;