Here’s a small excerpt of a much larger idea. This is fiction, but as a women I do have some experience with these issues, naturally.
I stood in front of my full-length mirror—naked. I’m not thin, and I don’t think I’m fat. My breasts were normal, I guess, I liked them a lot though. I even like my big hips and the way they make my waist look small. There was always something that could be improved. The barely there dimples on my butt, thinner thighs. Who doesn’t want thinner thighs? Hell, if we don’t have chicken legs, someone will say you have fat thighs. Love handles—those are the worst. Then again they did add a little something so long as you didn’t start growing a belly along with them. I was as comfortable with myself as one could be, I thought. It’s normal to never be fully satisfied, isn’t it? Well, sometimes I’m sure and sometimes I’m not. What if— that’s the real question. What if I wasn’t told I should lose ten pounds since I hit puberty. Aren’t women supposed to have twice as much fat as men? Who is providing us with this information, or better yet, who isn’t? What if you didn’t tell me to eat better, to not eat carbohydrates, to exercise for at least an hour a day, and drink eight glasses of water, oh and don’t eat sugar. Well tell me then, what the fuck do you want me to eat you fucking know it alls. I’m mad now, I’m not sure why, but then again, maybe I do know. Maybe deep down all that crap doesn’t really matter, it doesn’t mean squat diddly, all the crap they feed us. The worst part is we do it to ourselves now. Brainwashing is a harsh word for it, but maybe it isn’t? What else could one call it; suggestions, guidance, tell me, what!
Once upon a time I was 119 pounds, not 120, 119, and that was very important to me. One pound made all the difference to me then. It was the difference between being in the teens and all they way in the 120’s. In my eyes, during that time, all young girls should be, and god forbid they weren’t. The “teen” girls secretly sneered at them, but the aura of judgement always seeped through their pours, like a poison, and it was a poison in a way. It doesn’t matter if they say “it” or not, you can feel it. You can’t get away from that feeling.
I held myself in a higher bracket than those girls, like I was the only one that could rise above it all. I was the better person, the fair person, the best. It’s disgusting, to think one is the best, so I learned. You really have to experience both sides of the spectrum, skinny—and fat. Unfortunately I did.
There was never a normal middle of the road spectrum in my eyes, there was gorgeous and thin, or frumpy and large.