I was confident. Long brown curly locks flew down my spine; my eyes seemed flawless, from the compliments from strangers, I was thin. I had an image of myself to be better than reality, something that was bigger than what I could ever be. I was cocky, and bold, yet terribly shy. I was a Princess, because that’s what he told me, daddy's little princess. Caught up in the feeling of living in my castle, and feeling beautiful, I craved for this.

At age four my wardrobe was filled to the brim, with a mirror on the outside of it, where I apply my Barbie pink lipstick, like the models do TV. I practice my catwalk next to my bed to make sure I walk my line straight, apparently those judges are really mean. Think perfection.
“You should be a model” … Thanks Grandma, that’s what I’m working on. She was serious though, how ironic that she were to say that. Like she could read my mind, as if she knew what had been driving me nuts. I felt the need to strive harder once she told me I should be a model, like it was my duty. I should make someone proud.

“You really think so?” my big blue eyes got big with her response and sincerity. She had always truly meant it, too.

I play mirror with my mom, and she had no clue. Step by step, we were the same, we would wear similar clothes, and brush our hair together... my idol. We sat and watched TMZ and ET; I drooled at the flawlessness of these women, and really started to question myself. They were all blonde and had bright blue eyes, I’m confused. So after this, I really truly envied my best friend, she had all of these things, the hair, the eyes, and she wasn’t afraid to say what she thought. I was worried; she had the same thought as me, and we were going to be models. Because people told us we could pull it off at that age. We practiced to be perfect together.
You know, puberty is such an awkward phase, it can really ruin everything. The whole package really, from growing to periods, squeaky voices, acne, HORMONES, and the fact that everyone else is going through the exact same thing at a different time, it’s awful. Some people lucked out on the whole thing and their transition happened over summer so no one could notice, until the fall. The rest of us didn’t get it too easy. I on the other hand had it the worst of them all. For starters, I got braces, and my teeth were so crooked, they stretched so far out of normal proportion, one was turned sideways, and they were so hideous. Seventh grade was not the year to be smiling.

My round figure was not my prime either; measuring 5’4 in 7th grade is practically a giant. So I stood out, in a bad way of course. I strut down the hallway receiving looks that I didn’t want. So when I got to my class I bury myself in silence, blocking everyone out.

Finally, lunch time rolls around, and I sit happily with my best friends, but I do not eat.
“Boo are you hungry?” Chelsea looks confused.

“No, I’m fine, SO anyways guys, how are you all doing?” I change the topic as soon as I could.
“I’m fine; I just got out of my test in math, good luck on those later guys. Geez that was hard.” Mission complete; the subject was changed and they forgot that I was suffering.

I just talk, to keep the conversation off of me, to hide the fact that I’m not eating. Why should I anyways? So I skip my first two meals of the day in hopes that my mom hasn’t forgotten about me tonight. I just wait, until the bell rings again, and I’m off. The rumble in the pit of my stomach is so loud; I look around the room to make sure no one notices-- clear.
I’ve also got this problem, I have scoliosis. My spine is so messed up that I my hips are crooked, and my leg is too long, my rib cage sticks out because it’s rotated. So, for my issue, I have to start wearing a new brace, a humongous plastic restraint that prevents twisting and walking upstairs. (Where 3 out of 6 classes are located) This brace makes me look huge; it goes all the way around my stomach and up to my armpit, underneath my breasts until it reached my hips. It gives the illusion that I have a flat stomach but huge hips; I wore it under my clothes so it couldn’t be noticed some days, but others I felt like the main attraction at a carnival. People stop me to ask what my problem was, why I had huge Velcro bumps on my back. I hated this thing; I would find every good excuse in the book not to wear it. Oh, I forgot, it made my pants sag because it went over my pants, so I had no control over them. How. Embarrassing. I don’t know which caused which, but I blame my brace for my eating disorder.

“What do you want for dinner?” The response seemed impossible. I couldn’t fathom the words. I can’t tell if I’m hungry or just sick. I’m sick of being sick.

“Nothing Mom, I’m not hungry.” No further questioning was necessary. It was a daily routine, the Q&A from her; nothing ever gets done about it. I’m also a vegetarian, or a REALLY picky eater, whatever you want to call it.

While they eat, I take my sweet time in the shower; I let the steam fill the small room until it’s just a cloud. The heat gets to my head; it sends waves to my limbs, making me weak, making me dizzy. I turn off the water in fear of it overcoming me. My head feels too heavy for my body, and once I clasp onto my towel and dry off, I drop. I hit the floor, and I cannot move. I am not sure if anyone could hear me, so I wait. I let my head sink down, and it feels like I’m floating.

It seems like I have lost a few seconds, or maybe even minutes. Maybe that was a black out. BANG BANG. They open the door and I was hunched over. I look up to see what the ruckus was. For some reason I was mad that they came in, like they were disturbing me in a way. I was assisted to a stance, still having troubles to stand though.

“It’s because you don’t eat anymore.” My mom knew, she confronted me and it hurt. I’m so embarrassed, I can feel my pulse rushing to my head, and my face was turning red.

“No it’s not mom, I’m fine.” I lie.

They take me to the couch where I let my head rest, and I let it go. I let my disorder go, I’m hurting myself. I’m hurting those around me, I really need help.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m done.”

I wasn’t done, I found a new addiction. He was a 16 year old jock with the world at his feet, and everything handed to him, I don’t know which part I loved the most. Maybe it was the materialism, the fact he wore a jersey every Friday that accented his baby blue eyes perfectly. He was perfect for awhile, he was my knight and I was his rescued princess, we were so dependent on each other it was disgusting, we used each other to boost each other up. To give each other compliments and take them back when we feel like hating each other for the day. We scream at each other just for fun.

“I hate you, you are the worst person I have ever met, and I have never regretted anything more” I finally saw the clarity in his eyes; I hear it in his voice.

“I guess I’d say the same to you,” I whimper my response.

We went our separate ways and walked away. I could feel the death stare down my spine, and goose bumps soon arose. The threat had overwhelmed me, and so I turned around, and he was looking back at me.

I couldn’t go back. He’s awful to me, and we will never be happy. I forced my feet to move, to get back to home. He made me hate myself and everyone around me. I felt terrible in my own skin. I was so self conscious.
My eyes couldn’t hold any more tears. They were overflowing and pouring down my face, my face; red and puffy. I was behind no mask. I couldn’t sneak my way out of this one; I try to shake it off before more Q&A comes from Mom, because that would not go well. She hates him more than anything. This time I have been spotted. Time for interrogation.
“Where have you been?”
“I was out, I don’t really want to talk about it.” I knew what was coming from this..
“I don’t care, what did he want?”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s over.” When I say it out loud it sinks in. So I repeat myself a few more times.
“He never ever deserved you, he broke you and he was awful. He took things out on you to make up for his miserable life, he needed control over something. So he latched onto someone he loved.” I’ve never seen this side to her before, she was crying with me. She had felt the pain I did, as if the bruises under my sleeves were hers too. As if, her world had been shaken too; I knew she could relate, but I will never understand the extremity. But maybe neither could she.

It felt like we were playing mirror again, and she had no idea. I was walking in her shoes, and I finally understood what it was like to be on the same page as my mother, why she was always against me and him, she saw the same person that hurt her, in him. She has the wisdom I couldn’t have possessed at the time; she said it was because I was oblivious, because I had the illusion that we loved each other.

But now, I’m over the pain he put me through, I’m done with the pain I put myself through, and I’m done with idolizing myself so much it was gross. I was way up in the sky and down to my lowest point. I was so sick of feeling sick in my own skin, I was sick of being stuck in a materialistic world where nothing mattered. I thought these things would get me places, but really it put me through a spiral of depression, and now I’m happy. Every day I eat roughly three meals a day with snacks, I exercise daily, and I’m seeing a physical therapist for my back. I don’t let people walk all over me anymore, and I’m really defensive. I can have lazy Mondays and not care what people think.

My happiness radiates through me, & I have confidence to share, because I have gotten over the pain. I smile because I have people that love me, and want me here. So why should I spend my time obsessing over my looks and my weight and over materialistic things and even people that treat me like dirt. For me to be a strong woman like my mother, I need to grow up and apply this. I need to ignore people that treat me bad, and keep the ones that love me close, and always realize that those people are the ones that will be there in the end.

Today, I wake up optimistically; I look forward to the opportunity that is offered to me every day. I still feel like a princess, because princesses have confidence.