Self-Obsessed and Unlovely

I want to know why it feels easier now. My eating habits have become just that - habits. I feel like I've placed so much importance on other things [mainly the opinions of T, G, and Mark] that I don't notice what I'm eating, or rather what I'm not eating.

I woke up this morning, knew I had to get back to fasting, had a glass of water and continued on my day. I didn't even realized I hadn't eaten all day until I walked into the kitchen a few hours ago to get another glass of water [I've been drinking water from the bathroom sink to avoid the kitchen].


I have always had a habit of going into bathrooms, lifting up my shirt and staring at my stomach to check for more fat, but these past few days I've been going to mirrors to stare at myself.
My face.
My hair.
My flaws.

The dark place in my mind that has always been filled with obsession of my body now shares an obsession with my looks. I spend my time scouring media for beautiful women to idolize. Every time I look into a mirror I wish I had natural beauty, and that I was thinner. Of course this is to be expected from an eating disordered person, but my lack of focus on food and instead on my appearance has become so consuming that I am beginning to scare myself. I think back to when I was a child and would sit in the mirror for hours, crying and wishing I was beautiful. Growing up in a household where my mother was constantly the center for attention and always praised for her youth and good looks caused physical flaws to be a main focus of mine. At some point around middle school / the beginning of high school, I stopped caring. I did my hair and make up and hoped that I looked okay. It was sometime around late 9th - early 10th grade that I began to notice peoples focus turn to MY looks. At first, I was glad for the attention and the sweet compliments here and there. I didn't expect to be told I looked like a movie star or anything, but just getting to hear that my hair looked nice that day or a boy telling me I was pretty in front of my friends felt good. Then it escalated to more complex compliments with more genuineness and thought behind it. At first I shrugged it off and thought it was sweet of them, but surely they didn't know what they were talking about. Now when I'm told I'm "gorgeous" or I "look like a model", it's nothing but an accusation to me. A sick, twisted accusation. More proof that I am under constant scrutiny, and that the people in the outside world are waiting for the opportunity to tell me I'm not attractive at all and never was. Like they're building my hopes up, first.

I feel like that person is intentionally lying to me just because they can, or because they want something out of me. Even if it's from a complete stranger, I always assume that they mean it to get to me, because they know it isn't true.

Who in their right mind thinks a compliment is meant to be hurtful? I wish I didn't think like this. I wish that, even though it's not true, I could just accept the fucking compliment and be happy people are being nice to me.


I used to think I was ok. Now I feel like a monster. Inside and out. I feel so completely hideous that I can't understand why anyone would look my way. I hate my awkward facial expressions, the way I move my eyebrows when I talk, the way I am. I'm afraid of coming off as those girls that have half decent looks but call themselves unattractive all the time for compliments, and at the same time I'm afraid that I was never half-decent looking and I was just lying to myself the whole time.

I tried talking to my mother about this today:

"Mama, are you busy?" I say, creeping into her room and sitting on her bed. The comforter is soft and thick.
"No, why?" She says looking over a white hardback book at me.
"I wanted to talk to you about something." I say, wondering if this is one of those times shes my best friend or worst enemy.
"Alright, go ahead." She says putting her book down. I think she's in best friend mode.
"I don't feel like I see myself when I look in the mirror. Like I can't get an accurate representation of my looks." I venture.
"What do you mean?" She says nicely.
"I used to think I was alright, but now I don't think I'm pretty at all. Like I was just kidding myself. I don't know. I'm afraid people don't see me as pretty. I'm not asking about beautiful or stunning or whatever, I just want to be pretty at least." I say, the words bubbling over and spilling from my mouth. I feel stupid for telling her. I know she doesn't care. I just wanted to get it out to someone.
"Oh, please." She shoots me a dirty look. "You really expect me to believe that? Go look in a mirror and count your blessings. There are people out there who really aren't beautiful, so stop making jokes before you piss off God." She says turning to her book, fully convinced I'm not serious. I feel like crying. Once again I'm isolated. Boxed in, and left to contend with myself.
"I'm not kidding!" I shriek. "You don't understand at all." I say, standing quickly to leave the room. My face is flushed and I go to my room to bury myself in pillows.

My mother walks in quietly a few moments later. She sits down on my bed and it creaks.
"So you really don't think you're pretty, huh?" She says, slowly.
"No.." I say, facing the wall with a pillow over my head.
"What don't you like about yourself?" She asks. I sit up and stare at her.
"I don't know, everything. Just my face collectively, I guess." I say, exasperated.
"Pick out one thing you hate about your face." She says.
"I can't." I say. "There's no one major specific thing. It just doesn't seem pretty." I say, unable to make her understand. My nose isn't crooked, or ridiculously wide or sharp. My forehead is particularly big or small. My eyes aren't too far apart or too close together. My cheekbones are normal. There isn't anything I can pick out that could be adjusted or fixed to make me beautiful. I just hate all of it. Every single last detail. I'm not beautiful just because I'm NOT. I don't know what it is. It's just not me. When I think of myself, I think of the awkward, unattractive 11 year old chubby girl going through an awful awkward stage.
"Sophia.." She says worriedly. "Thats because there is NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU. I don't know how you don't see it. When was the last time someone rejected you or called you ugly?" She says sounding angry.
"I don't know. It doesn't matter. I just am." I say, feeling myself wilt like a dying flower.
"Do you think people tell you you're beautiful just for the hell of it? What, do you think they sit there and tell everyone this stuff? You need to stop being so focused on yourself and start appreciating what you have, because looks fade." She says, getting up from my bed and walking out of my room.

I feel lost again. I need to get my shit together.
In four days, Mark will be let down at how un-pretty I've become and T will begin to hate me for everything that I am. I can hide who I am when I'm hanging out. Not when I'm at home.

All I want is to be delicate with soft good looks. I don't want the fucking world, all I want is to be beautiful. I just want to be impressive at least once. Why can't I, just this fucking once?





XOXO Sophia Ruins <3