I am a real woman with an imperfect body. I have cellulite. It’s ugly, but it’s there. My bad hair days stretch to weeks, and the occasional stress-induced acne breakout becomes a catastrophe of epic proportions. Despite all of my many perceived imperfections, I consider myself less-than interesting looking. I could never look at myself and declare myself beautiful, it isn’t in me to do so. I hide from the evil, evil mirror. I am crushed daily, like a worm. No matter how hard I try or how much I starve myself, or look in the mirror and try and boost my sometimes sagging self esteem, I will never be thin, tall, or young. It sucks and I face it head on like a runaway train. I occasionally spit at the woman in the mirror for her many insecurities. She has interestingly red hair that is neither copper, or blonde, but some kind of bastard child in between. My eyes are the color of the Atlantic Ocean, neither green nor blue but something like the sea after a storm, minus the foam but absolutely with the spare tire floating around.
I already read that women are their own “worst enemy” and in a way, they are correct. We are bitchy and whiny and catty as hell, knocking down strangers and celebrities alike on the way to building up our own self esteem, we work overtime shredding someone to bits. AW hell to the YES. Sometimes it is fun to say Paris Hilton has a wonky eye, or has flippers for feet, or Kim Kardashian has a big old Armenian badonk-badonk and somehow it makes us feel better to know that they have such human flaws. Shit, it makes me feel like a million bucks to see Jennifer Aniston with a zit. HELL YES!!! She can afford all the luxuries of life, and all the pretty things and the goops and the creams and the expensive potions and elixirs and she has a zit?
The media tells us daily that unless we have a thigh gap that, well, we really should kill ourselves. Not only do I NOT have a thigh gap, I am pretty sure that if I walk fast enough I could generate enough friction to cause flame and set myself on fire. That could take care of a lot of problems, but most likely I would only succeed in making s’mores on myself.
“You have such a pretty face, Sherri…. If you would just lose weight”- my mom.
I was trying to find pictures of me, when I was younger, for this post and I realized with great sadness, that I had done a really good job of erasing myself and my image from my past. There are absolutely no pictures of me during college , very few pictures of me and and any friends together, and with the exception of a few wedding pictures one could seriously question my existence altogether! Imagine, no pictures of me with the family on vacations, or even at the beach. With family. With friends. How completely sad. Even now, I delete pictures of myself. It’s pretty fucking sad.
….to be continued