I struggled with bulimia mostly because I had a best friend who was slender and got all the attention while I was heavier and was rarely noticed by the opposite sex. I wanted the guys to pay attention to me like they did with her. I was so jealous, I could barely see straight. I starved and purged whenever I ate (which was rare) and I started losing weight. Fast. I got sick, but I didn't mind. Besides, I figured feeling like I was at death’s door was what I deserved for being such an ugly piece of trash. What I didn’t know was that the reason my best friend was so thin was because she was fighting her own battle against anorexia.

My bulimic and anorexic tendencies paled in comparison with my purposeful self-harming. I had grown up with a dad who possessed a mean streak a mile wide. He was a big guy and liked to threaten me and my two siblings. Once, I witnessed him drunkenly stuff my brother’s face in the couch cushion, laughing as he suffocated his only son. I was eight at the time and had no idea what to do… so I hid. Thankfully, my elder sister intervened and my brother was saved. But I was branded with that image and many others put into action by an abusive father. I began to wonder, what’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t Daddy love me? When I was fifteen, I had a fling with a controlling kid my own age, one who forced me to do some sexual things even though I begged him to stop. All of this coupled with bullying resulted in a very angry little girl who was so used to being mistreated, she figured she deserved it.

That’s why I started self-harming.

It began tame enough. A few light cuts here, a few more there. I liked the high that came with it, the fulfilling feeling that I was doing what was right. I was punishing the filthy monster of a girl. At times, I figured I should get a medal for getting what I deserved and having the bravery to go through with it.

Soon enough, it evolved. I was no longer doing it just because I thought I deserved it. I was doing it because seeing blood trace down my scarred legs and stomach reminded me that I was still alive even though I felt dead. My methods also evolved. I continued to cut with a rusty blade I found, hoping that I would get an infection and maybe pass on. Yes, I was suicidal. I also went to burning, bruising, choking, and coming as close to drowning as I could.

I tried killing myself twice. Once, I cut my wrists. The other time, I tried to drown, probably because I have a deep seated fear of drowning. Don’t ask me how that makes sense. Maybe I was thinking that someone as worthless as me deserved to die the way I feared most. In any case, I survived both attempts and continued to battle an overwhelming depression.

A few months after that fling I told you about, I entered into a relationship with a guy from school. I’m going to be completely honest here and say this kid was ugly. I’m not just saying that because he was scrawnier than my anorexic friend and had a big nose and eyes that belonged on a hound dog. I’m saying he was ugly because he had a temper that scared me and reminded me of my dad. By the time I realized how big of a temper he had, we were already two months into the relationship and I was scared to get out. But I was also reluctant to leave because I felt bad for him. He didn’t have a lot of friends, had been bullied, and grew up with an abusive father. Whenever I even hinted at leaving, he’d freak out and beg me to stay and sometimes even threaten that he’d cut or kill himself. The relationship lasted six more months.

In that time with him, we had fights that I couldn’t believe would ever happen. They were just so unexpected. Anything could set him off. The smallest peep from me that he deemed unfit resulted in a major blow up from him. I lived those months in fear and would burst into tears whenever he called me, knowing that somewhere in the conversation he’d start yelling at me. He also insulted my mother as much as he wanted to at any given moment, which is a big no-no for me. My mom is my rock and the biggest comfort in the world to me, but my boyfriend had shoved a wedge in between me and my mom by him telling me how controlling she was and how she had no right to tell me what to do. I ended up getting in a ton of trouble because of things he convinced me to think about her and act out on.

We ended when I met someone named Aaron. He’s a good kid, the son of a youth pastor and a loyal buddy. Tall and muscular, he has the warmest smile and inviting eyes the colour of melted chocolate. Not to mention the perfect hair. His loose curls are chestnut brown or maybe dirty blonde. It depends on the lighting. One of his eyes is a bit lighter than the other, but you have to get close to notice it. He’s the kind all the girls fall for, but I noticed he didn’t really pay them any attention. There was something about Aaron, the way he wasn’t interested in using the girl’s attention to his benefit. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but there was definitely something special about him.
Anyway, he was my best friend since the moment we started talking. There was just so much we had in common! We both enjoyed comic books, superhero movies, video games, film making, writing, and so much more. Where my boyfriend and I could only talk for a few minutes without turning to depressing topics like how we both knew we were falling apart, Aaron and I texted all day and I always had a smile on my face.

He was my best friend and the first one to know my relationship was falling apart, but I was too scared to really end it. After giving me a few Bible verses for encouragement, promising to pray for me, and comforting me as best he could, Aaron kindly suggested I break up with my boyfriend. He reminded me that it was an unhealthy relationship and my boyfriend was extremely controlling (with the excuse of just trying to take care of me) whereas I resented being controlled. I knew Aaron was right, but there was still the matter of me being scared of my boyfriend. After all, he had punched a hole in the wall when he was mad at me once and I had an image of that wall being my head if I broke up with him.

Do you know what my boyfriend made me do once he realized Aaron and I were close? He made me write Aaron a text explaining that we were simply too close and that I actually really loved my boyfriend and wanted to make things work with him. As I wrote the text, my boyfriend made sure I typed exactly what he spoke. With each word, my anger rose till it was close to boiling over, but fear kept it down. Once I sent the text, I regretted it, but my boyfriend seemed pretty smug. He had figured he had beaten Aaron and managed to keep the girl.
Well, I’m not a prize to be won and I’m not a dog that obeys her master’s every command. I’m a human being with feelings and thoughts and a will of my own. Unfortunately, at the time, I was too caught up in fear and pity for my boyfriend to do anything but limply obey. I still managed a heinous act of rebellion: I kept talking to Aaron, pouring out my heart to him and realizing I was just as much his best friend as he was mine.

I’m sure the picture I’ve painted of myself has seemed pretty pathetic so far. I was a weak willed teen with a bad relationship and no idea how to get out of it. Did I mention I had started getting feelings for Aaron? Because I did, even though I kept them hidden. And guess what? Aaron was the one who helped me work through a very dramatic break up.

I can remember the day I broke up with my boyfriend. It was in late October of 2013, a month after I had turned sixteen. It was also a month since I had begun attempt after attempt to break it off with him. It was all pretty simple, if you think about it. I had feelings for Aaron, my boyfriend had verbally torn into me enough times to bring my self-confidence to a whole new low, and while Aaron treated me with respect, my boyfriend thought I was trash. The choice was plain. I broke up with him, despite his pleading and threats and promises, sitting on the same trampoline in my backyard where I had wrote the farewell text to Aaron a couple weeks before.

The following month was hell. My ex continually texted. One minute, he’d be begging me to come back, declaring his love for me and his pledge to keep his temper to a minimum. The next minute, he’d be bashing me and calling me things like “b*tch.” He accused me of being a manipulative jerk who used him. At the end of the month, he wrote a particularly long text that completely tore me apart. I won’t get into it because it made me sick and I’d rather not go there again. Let’s just say he blamed everything on me and admitted he was a monster before adding I was the one who made him that way. Right after that text, he explained that he believed that bashing me would give him some closure from the broken relationship. “But it didn’t work and I need you…” He added depressingly. When I didn’t respond, he angrily texted that he needed me, but I wasn’t there from him. He said he didn’t need me and informed me I could go to hell. After all that and a few tearful nights of guilt and hurt feelings, I blocked his number and haven’t heard from him since.

What was Aaron doing all this time? Aaron was texting me till midnight or beyond whenever I needed him to cheer me up. Aaron was making stupid jokes throughout the day when I needed a laugh. Aaron was comforting me when I admitted I had made a ton of mistakes in the relationship and some of what my ex had said about me was true. Aaron was praying for and with me when I cried over all the pain one relationship can cause. All in all, Aaron was being the exact opposite of my ex.

On top of all that, Aaron admitted he had feelings for me and I reluctantly started trusting him despite my bad history with guys.
For the first month or so, I was struggling with getting over my ex. Aaron paid me special attention, but I wasn’t ready to give my heart to someone after just having it trampled by someone else. It needed time to heal. Aaron, in his understanding and caring way, helped with that. After a while, I recognized the honest admiration and comradeship he had with me and decided it was alright to share my heart with him. I’ll never forget how happy he was! I had been the first girl who hadn’t thrown herself at him, eager for his attention. In fact, when he first started liking me, I had rejected his advances even though I also had feelings for him. I managed to refrain from melting at how romantic he was for a month, and then I let myself fall for him. There was just something special about Aaron. But playing hard to get fueled his eagerness to earn my affections and he was so extremely thankful when he did.

We’ve been together for six months after the first attempt at a break-up with my ex. I’m no longer anorexic, bulimic, or a self-harmer. Instead, I’m a healthy girl who smiles a whole lot more than I used to. Aaron is still a gentleman and I’m still head over heels for him. Can you believe he doesn’t have a temper unless it’s directed towards guys who have tried to steal me from him (yes, there’s been one or two). It’s amazing to me that after six months with my ex, I was desperate for a way out. But after six months with Aaron, I’m closer to him than I ever thought possible. When we fight, it’s not the yelling I’m used to. It’s more of an emotional debate. At the end of the day, I always think he’s perfect for me.

We’ve made mistakes. They’ve been big ones and many in number. But we pushed through them and still are. Aaron’s ex, a crazily possessive blonde girl with bright blue eyes and a skinny form, has caused serious problems between us when she offered to sleep with him, verbally attacked me, and continually tried to steal him away from me. Never mind the fact they haven’t been together for over a year! She still wants him and she thinks I’m the devil incarnate. I’ve seen Aaron at his emotional worst and he’s seen me at mine. I know his bad features and he knows every single one of my bad features too. He’s seen me with bed head and pimples and wearing baggy clothes that aren’t at all flattering. I’ve seen him with cold sores and messy hair that seriously needs a comb. We’re stuck in a long distance relationship that has taken its toll on us both, but I’d rather be battling physical loneliness than be in a relationship with anyone who isn’t Aaron – even if it’s someone living close enough to me to cuddle and caress me. Something I like to do is imagine those first moments we touch because we’ve already made plans for visits and even for living arrangements.

The point is, we’re happy together and I’m in a better place than before.

Why am I telling you this? Why in the world am I allowing complete strangers to glare openly into my somewhat hidden past? The answer is simple: I want to give you hope. Ladies, let’s be honest now. It’s not easy in this day and age to think well of ourselves. If bullies or parents aren’t saying we’re ugly, then the media is blaring it. We have to look skinny and have perfect skin and shiny hair to be considered remotely beautiful. Statistically speaking, the majority of models are Caucasian women with long hair and scrawny bodies. Those models are supposed to be the standards of beauty in Canada and the USA, but I’d like to know why a woman with dark skin can’t be equally beautiful. Why are curvy women looked down on as “fat” and “overweight”? Beauty is not found in a size 0, ladies. It’s time we embraced that.

The fact that I took verbal beatings from bullies and my ex stemmed from my dangerously low confidence. I thought I was ugly and that since I was ugly, I wasn’t worth much. Since I thought I wasn’t worth much, the best I could hope for was a control freak with a frightening temper. I settled and lowered my standards. Because I thought I was worthless and ugly, I went to scary lengths to lose weight and started self-harming.

And all because I didn’t feel pretty.

Since when is beauty the measure of worth? It’s my personal belief that every single female on the planet is beautiful. We’re not all beautiful because we’re a size 0, have long flowing hair, and never get pimples. We’re all beautiful because we’re different from one another. We’re not copies of the Barbie doll we all grew secretly hating because she was so darn “perfect.” All we have to do is recognize our own prettiness. Our society bases so much importance on how we look. Well, how about this: we all look absolutely fabulous!

Go ahead and wear those baggy cargo pants. Who says you have to show off your butt? Those pants are pretty cute with that shirt you got there.

Wow, you’re wearing sneakers instead of high heels? Rocking the look, my friend, rocking the look.

What I’m trying to say is, don’t be a Barbie doll. If you are, you’ll just be weighed down with the constant worry of how you look. It’s a burden that will slouch your shoulders with time, trust me.

I’m going to let you in on a secret. When Aaron fell for me, he had no idea what I looked like neck down. I go to an online high school and we struck up a conversation for no reason other than to make a friend. At the time, all he knew about me was that I had a profile picture in which he could see I was of mixed descent, had curly brown hair, dark eyes, a button nose, and full lips. He didn’t see my body. He couldn’t tell if I was slender or heavy set, liked girly girl or tomboyish clothes, or even something simple like how tall I was. The truth was… he didn’t care.

He took the time to delve into my personality. He recognized my faults and decided to fight for me, regardless. He’s a gentleman. He’s mine. His interest in me had nothing to do with how slender I may or may not be.

I know I’m babbling on and on, so I’ll wrap this story up. I’m 5’3 and weigh in at 160 lbs. My neck is too short, my arms are too blubbery, and my legs are something I’ve been ashamed of for years. My stomach and thighs are covered in scars, not to mention a burn on my arm that bubbled dramatically and ended up not fading half as well as the others. My hair isn’t long, it’s chin length. I’m not white, I’m a mixture of Cherokee and Irish and a very big dose of African. I don’t wear short shorts or crop tops, preferring jeans and tops that are often so preoccupied with cute designs and cuts, they don’t dip down to show off my breasts. Bottom line? I’m no where near the stereotypical standard of beauty. I’m not saying that if you’re Caucasian, thin, and like to wear trendy clothes, you’re a Barbie doll who doesn’t understand true beauty. I’m saying you don’t have to be those things to be beautiful. You’re beautiful because you are you, a wonderful human being and individual who doesn’t have to follow what the media declares as right.

You are loved and treasured and it’s time you learned to like yourself too. If I could, I would make you sit in front of the mirror and say, “What a beautiful young lady! Is that me? Oh, go on! Really? My eyes are prettier than I remembered. I never realized how full my lips are. That’s a good thing! I happen to like the way my nose is shaped. And hey, these freckles are kinda cute. I may have a bigger belly than Jessica, but I don’t see her boasting a butt this awesome.”

Don’t get an ego the size of Robert Downy Jr.’s, girls. I know he’s cute, but that big of an ego doesn’t suit anyone else. Learn how pretty you are, and learn to respect and love yourself. If there’s a healthy does of self-love, then there won’t be an annoyingly huge ego but there also won’t be stupid decisions like lowering standards because you think you don’t deserve any better. With a healthy amount of confidence, you’ll probably even end up attracting a guy like Aaron, a loving and caring and selfless guy who will always treat you right.

In case someone didn’t tell you, you are gorgeous and beautiful and I think you’re a pretty special young woman. Come on, let’s see a smile now. You know, the smile is the most attractive curve on a lady. There it is! There’s that legendary smile. Beautiful!