TW//: Borderline ED, Body Dysmorphia

        Welcome one and all to my villain origin story. I’ve spoken frequently on my posts about my vanity and my intense occupation with my appearance and the way I am perceived…Now you will learn where it all began (insert evil laugh). Let’s start with some foundation, I was born to a young woman who was raising me alone, and this woman was beautiful…therefore I had to be beautiful too! We’d be two pretty girls against the world. She dressed in the cutest clothes she could afford, did my hair in adorable pigtails and braids, and I always smelled like sweet perfumes and cleanliness. I was her pride and joy, and I most certainly still am…because once I was old enough to do those things for myself…well, let’s just say old habits never die, in my case. I was your average prissy girl in elementary school, I wanted to look nice, smell nice, be clean and perfect from the inside out; I once threw a fit in the grocery store because my parents didn’t want to buy me mouth wash, “You don’t need that yet!” they told me, but BOY…did I think I needed it. My beauty was first translated to me as my cleanliness, that’s how I understood it at first, the cleaner and prettier I looked, the more people would like me. I thrived on compliments when I was younger, I fucking loved them and I still do, I loved getting affirmations for the things I put so much effort towards…. until one day…those compliments started to change…

                “¡Sos pura muñeca!”, “You’re just like a doll”, “You’re just like a Barbie!”. Yes! I was like a Barbie, because I looked so cute and put together, right? “¡Puro modelo! ¡Mírala!” …Huh? “¡Que cuerpazo!” ….Oh. They aren’t talking about my braids, or the outfit my mami picked out for me, or the way I was sitting so poised and quietly…they talking about my body. This was a thing for me since I was born, mind you, I was always on the smaller side; but it wasn’t until I was in 5^th grade that I noticed this type of language being used around me. I was coming out of that “cute phase” for the adults around me, EVERYBODY GIVE PUBERTY A NICE WARM “FUCK YOU!”, so my appearance was…confounding. Big doe eyes were being replaced with eye bags, my silky straight hair was suddenly becoming curly and unruly, and prissy gracefulness was becoming something more defiant. What was there left to compliment? Because God forbid, they mention my success in school or my efforts in looking pristine, no…compliment the hourglass figure coming in…yeeeeeah! I had always been on the smaller side, thin and almost a bit sickly looking, but had caused my doctor concern was now becoming a hot topic with the tías. In my culture, fatphobia is so real, you even get a nice little nickname that sticks with you til death if you so much as have a little baby fat. My cousins would say I lucked out with getting the nickname “huesitos”, little bones. And let me reiterate for the millionth time, I’m an attention whore, so if everyone was going to take focus on me having a thin body THEN BY GOD…I’m gonna have the thinnest body around. That right there, is the origin, so let’s see where it goes/went.

               I created a routine for myself after this revelation came to light, a very strict routine that was more a set of rules, one that lasted in my head up until now. Here’s how it went:

• Shave my body in its entirety at least once a week (twice during the summer)
• Choose between Breakfast + Lunch, Lunch + Dinner, or Breakfast + Dinner; never have all three meals (only consume 2,000 calories or less daily)
• Snacks must only be fruits or vegetables
• ONLY DRINK WATER
• If I can’t feel the perfume burning my nostrils, put on more (this also applies to deodorant)
• If an activity has the potential to make you sweat in your nice clothes, don’t do it
• Remain consistent with full body skin care routine, nightly and morning regime (must prevent blemishes before they begin)

      There was plenty more to that list but that was what my life consisted around for the longest time. If I strayed from my routine, even just a little bit, I was ugly. No one cared if I was smart, no cared how hard it was for me to get out of bed, no one cared for my talents and desires…If I wanted anyone to look at me…I needed to give them someone worth looking at. And listen, I knew my mother loved me regardless of what I looked like, hell, she would beg me to eat more. I knew what my family loved me for who I was, I knew they cared and actually cared about me, but this notion I had in my mind was like a plague I couldn’t dispel. I talk about now like it was a long time ago, but it was only this year that I started to be what I call “more generous” with myself. I celebrate eating three meals a day, I buy myself treats and I do regular exercise for my health, not my appearance. Yes, I am still very vain, that’s not changing about me but I’m not going to damage myself for the gratification of others. I won’t be their Barbie doll if it means I’m hurting, I want to feel beautiful, not restrained.