Beauty Is In the Beholder

My alarm goes off, dreadfully pulling me from my comfortable place of rest. I roll over and silence the obnoxious noise and sigh loudly. My eyes groggily open and make contact with the face of Ariana Grande. I gaze around at the numerous other posters on my walls and allow myself a minute to daydream. How much better would my life be if I was as beautiful as them? As my mind wakes up, I am swarmed with the all-too-fresh wounds of yesterday. I can still hear David’s voice, shouting as I walked away from him for the last time, “You really think I could love someone like you? I mean Jesus, Amy, at least make an effort to lose weight and stop bitching about it. No one is ever going to love you anymore!” I wish I didn’t believe him. I wish so badly that his words didn’t puncture my heart; but they always did. I don’t know where it all went so wrong. 

The first year and a half seemed like a fairytale, we would go on dates every week and he would bring me a single sunflower because he knew they were my favorite. He was never really the angry type, especially in the beginning, but he grew impatient with me. The past six months have been absolute agony as I felt him become more and more distant. My depression got worse after my dog died and that’s when the weight gain really started. That’s when he stopped loving me. He could not understand how deeply the loss affected me. For the first couple months, he comforted me and allowed me to grieve. But as time went on he seemed frustrated that I was still hurting. 

One day when we were having a picnic, I saw a dog that looked just like Buddy and completely broke down crying. David comforted me physically, rubbing my back, but his tone was no longer soft and soothing. “Oh come on, it’s been months already, you knew he was going to die eventually,” he said, seemingly irritated. I couldn't even fathom how someone could be so heartless. Buddy was seventeen. I had him my whole entire life and everything seems empty now without him here. I let my eyes drift over to his abandoned bed in the corner of my room as the tears start flowing. His eighteenth birthday would have been next week, I was really hoping he would make it. I close my eyes for a few more minutes and drift off. My body doesn’t allow me to rest for too long, so I open my eyes and gaze at the time. 

6:42AM. Time to suck it up and start moving so I don’t miss the bus. Unlike most others my age, I don’t have my license yet because I can’t find the motivation for anything lately, therefore I must subject myself to the torture that is public high school transportation. My feet hit the ground and I shuffle to the bathroom. Sunlight peeks through the blinds and I squint my tired eyes to locate my toothbrush and toothpaste. I brush my teeth quickly, staring down the sink’s drain. I refuse to look in the mirror lately because I despise what I see. I can’t bear to face the reason why David left me. 

My feet carry me to my room and without even thinking, I am already dressed and out the door. Running a bit late, I hustle to my bus stop, and as I see kids already getting on board, I start running. I find a seat near the front and look out the window, blasting my music in my headphones. Staring at everything outside, I zone out, dreading the day before it has even truly begun. The houses passing by become blurry and my eyelids start to droop. I open my eyes suddenly to the cacophony of laughter, loudness, and chaos that is high school. I give a quiet smile to my bus driver as I am the last one to exit. Just as I reach the last step, I trip a little bit and fight back tears as I keep walking. Oh my God, they all saw that. They’re all judging me. Don’t cry, why do you have to be so dramatic? I ignore all the eyes on me as I make my way to my favorite spot. 

Every morning is the same mundane routine: I sit on a quiet bench away from everyone and mentally beg for time to fly by so I can go to class. It’s not that I enjoy learning so much, but rather that I just want the day to start so I can distract my mind and not appear to be a loner. I have friends of course, but they all have their licenses and therefore arrive at school at the very last minute. So, to my dismay, I must arrive early from the bus and just wait. I glance up at the large oak tree above me, listening to the peaceful rustle of leaves and watching them fall. The bell is about to ring when suddenly I have the dire urge to pee. I know that if I move quickly enough, I’ll still make it to class on time. I reach the nearest hallway as the first bell sounds and the sea of people starts flooding up around me. As I scramble to find a clear path to the bathroom, I bump shoulders with someone. She quickly turns to face me and I immediately holler, “Sorry!” as we pass each other by. Her hair bounces over her shoulder as she turns back around, as to avoid bumping into anyone else. She is so pretty. I wish I was that pretty. 

I reach the bathroom just in time because my bladder feels as though it is going to explode. Entering the nearest stall, I do my business and then go to the sink to wash my hands. I keep my head down as usual, however bright red hair catches my attention. My eyes jolt up as I stare at the reflection looking back at me. It’s been months since I’ve looked at myself in the mirror but I know for a fact that is not me. The walls feel like they are closing in as I try to process what is happening. Squinting at the girl looking back at me, I recognize that face. Summer Chase from my first math class. With my hands resting on the sink I lean down, feeling like I am about to pass out. Slowly I look back up at the mirror’s reflection. Smooth glowing skin, bright green eyes, soft fluttery eyelashes, and the perfect smile. Before I can even begin to question my current circumstances, the warning bell rings which means I have three minutes to get to class. 

Practically running, I arrive at the hallway where Mrs. Wallace’s class is located, slowing down my pace as I near the door. I walk in and stop dead in my tracks. There I am in my normal seat near the back, closest to the wall by the windows. I have one headphone dangling out of my ear as I prepare my supplies for the lesson, head down so as to avoid any eye contact. Not wanting to draw any attention to my current self, I make my way to Summer’s usual seat, which is all the way against the back wall. Seated behind myself, just one row to the right, I can’t help but to stare. I have a way of zoning out and ignoring the world around me until it’s time to pay attention. I’ve grown accustomed to ignoring anyone who may look my way, and so now when it’s me, staring at myself, it doesn’t even phase me. 

The lights are half dimmed, and the morning glow shines through the windows, cascading beautifully across my face. My hair is tucked behind my ear and pushed to the side, exposing half of my face to those next to me. As I gaze at the Van Gogh paintings printed on the back of my favorite hoodie, I recognize the same images from earlier in the hallway. It was me. I bumped into myself, silently wishing I could be as pretty as the girl I saw. Is this really what everyone else sees? What did David see? From a distance my body doesn’t look bad at all. From any distance it is not bad, honestly. Surely, I’m not as thin as I was in the previous years, but I still look like me. I am still the same person I once loved. How strange is it now, to be looking at myself not from the distorted front camera of my phone, not from the quick glances in mirrors, but instead from the eye’s of another. The final bell rings and everyone is seated. Mrs. Wallace begins her lesson, as I watch myself instead. 

It’s interesting to see the way I furrow my brow with intent as I study the teacher scribbling an equation on the whiteboard. My eyes dart up and down as I copy every step in my notebook. It’s almost as if a lightbulb is visible over my head when my eyes glow with excitement from finally understanding a concept. I smile quietly, a smile that I figured no one ever pays mind to, but I see it now. Oh how much power those quiet smiles hold. My legs are crossed and pointed to the side. The skirt I wear, paired with leggings underneath, drapes gracefully on the seat. Whenever I tilt my head to the side, my hair falls in different waves down my back. My left hand supports my chin as I remain attentive to the board. She is so pretty...I am so pretty. 

The lesson drones onward and I have not absorbed a bit of information in this current body. As I am observing the dimple in my cheek when I smile, I watch myself jump a bit when the fire alarm abruptly sounds. Everyone starts scrambling in their seats as the shrill noise continues. The light is fading from the room now, as the noise only grows louder and louder. 

My eyes jolt open and I am staring at the face of Ariana Grande. I slam the button on top of my alarm clock to now turn it off fully as I try to come back to terms with reality. 6:37AM. I am not in math class, and I am not in Summer Chase’s body. I gaze around my room and just for good measure, I look down and pinch my arm. Ouch. Okay, this is reality. Slowly I turn to sit up in bed. I take a deep breath and run my hands through my hair as I head to the bathroom. I feel my way around the door frame as the sunlight blinds me like it always does. With my eyes shut tightly, I inhale sharply one more time and exhale through my mouth. I open my eyes to face the reflection before me. Tears begin to flood my vision as I analyze the person I’ve been avoiding all this time. I am beautiful. The sunrise lights up my face just as it did in my dream. My brown eyes glow like honey and my cheeks are rosy from sleeping. My hair is a voluminous mess across my shoulders, but it is a pretty, effortless sort of mess. My hand flies to my mouth as I continue to cry. But for the first time in a long time it is not from discontentment with my appearance. These are happy tears. For so long, I let a man who could not truly love me dictate my sense of self worth. Why did I listen to him? Whatever he saw in me, he couldn't be more wrong. Waves of emotion rush over me and I smile at the fact that I feel pretty even when I am crying. I know I am emotional and often a lot to handle at times. I am sensitive, and have moments where the world feels like it is crushing me. I am messy, broken, lost, hurting; I am a lot of things, but I will never again allow “insecure” to be one of them. From this day forward, I am taking back my self love. Words can cut deep, which is why it is important that I fight them with my own positive ones. Looking in the mirror, I start what I want to be a daily habit. I look into my eyes and remind myself: 

I am beautiful. I am worthy of love. I will always be enough.