When I was born, I don’t believe it was me truly being born, I was waking up. I had been dormant, I think. I don’t recall any type of birth. Just sleeping. I was never small and never grew, I slept in the same body I woke up in, stagnant. I was in a dreamless sleep for a very long time when suddenly my lungs filled with something painful. It felt like what I now know as ashes and broken glass, my chest tightening and making my body contort with life. My eyes were ripped open, pried by fingers that weren’t my own and I couldn’t see, aggressive and unrelenting as I writhed in an effort to get away. It may have been a birth, although no mother was present, I still wailed for her comfort. I didn’t receive anything resembling comfort though, but I did receive touch. A cold touch, something dead and desperate, something that was tearing at my feverish body. There were hundreds of hands, a swarm that I could see, all reaching out and clawing at my skin, streaking through it and making it cry tears of tar. There was silence in their touch, they did not call out to me or face me, my screams falling on deaf ears and muted tongues. Their touch said all that had to be said. They were beneath me, above me, between my arms and legs, just a constant pull, pull, pull, pull from decaying fingers and palms. Their nails dug into me like frigid metal clamps, sinking so deep my bones crunched in the tightening hold, and I begged whatever they were to stop…stop…. Stop…Stop…Stop. Each time I cried out, more ash and shards of torture entered my body, cutting my lips and the insides of my cheeks. It felt like I was being shredded inside and outside, a simultaneous affliction of misery.  I don’t know how long that lasted…but what I do know is that it wasn’t a birth, nowhere close to one. The next time I opened my eyes I was somewhere empty…there was grass…and a moon…and stars…and I was as empty as where I laid…. I was hungry.

        I’ve tasted bone marrow of all kinds…flesh of all sorts. I have bitten, licked, gnawed, and savored. None of this is enough. I am hungry. My skin sticks to my bones and my eyes sink into my skull. My hands are delicate and paper thin. I am hungry…. When I find you, and beg to be fed, what will you say? I am beautiful as well…I have a body that as ghastly as it is, has been touched by many. The handprints are still there. Because everyone is hungry, that is what I learned, everyone wants to consume something… What will you say? Don’t you want to rip me open? See what I’m made of? Don’t you want to comfort me and wipe my tears? Don’t you want to clean the blood stains from my arms and legs and pick the rotting fragments of death from my teeth? I am coming to you…and I am hungry.

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.

There’s a callus on my elbow I hide all the time, I’m always wearing long sleeves or something that covers my upper arm because it makes me super self-conscious, since the skin is all dark and dry (no matter how much I moisturize and exfoliate). I noticed it one day after coming home from work, I was putting on my pajamas when my mom walked in and in the most aghast tone possible, she asked “What’s wrong with your arm?!” I looked at myself in the mirror and almost started bawling because I had a huge dark, scaly, dry callus on my elbow; I immediately freaked out “WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?! WHAT DO I DO!?” Now, I will always be honest and true to myself, so please respect my acknowledgment that I am EXTREMELY vain, this was a huge blow to my self-image, I’M SUPPOSED TO BE SMOOTH AND PINK AROUND THE EDGES; like a goddamn water-color painting (the unrealistic expectation of my appearance is a conversation for a different post)! After examining the area for a minute with my mom she came to the conclusion that I got it from work, from wearing long sleeves every day due to the dress code (scrubs and such) and the position I was sitting while at my desk taking calls (leaning on the chair arms to be closer to the phone), and that revelation was…super annoying. I do a lot to take care of myself and this job supplemented my habits…but now was it the cause for me to buy MORE self-care bullshit? And not only that, now I had something else I wanted to hide other than my dark circles, slight weight loss, and stress acne…. ALL FROM THE SAME SOURCE! That’s when I started to think “If anyone outside of work sees me, they better pretend they didn’t, this isn’t who I am” and remembering that thought process, we end up at this little post because why is it so often that we have to separate ourselves into something we’re not in order to achieve monetary gain?

        I think I have the patience of a protestant christian GOD, because the way I don’t hang up on every rude parent that calls the office, it’s actually astounding. For context, I work in the health care industry, so that means I’m in a strange in between of knowing how these people feel but also…I’m part of the WORST system in country. So, you’re lowkey screwed if you talk to me, BUT THAT’S NOT MY FAULT! It’s really hard being on the phone with so many upset parents who just want to help their kids, who resort to insulting me and my workplace, only for me to have to follow a script. I have to disconnect, I have to put my anger, sadness, compassion aside in order to get through hours’ worth of calls or else I’d be getting a lot of complaints. It’s especially hard to do this when I’m a super emotional person outside of work, I cry at everything and get really loud when I’m excited, but I got to hold my tongue and watch what I say when I’m talking to a Mama Bear on line 3. It’s kind of fucked up, I’m a not machine and I was hired for my “personality” according to my last employee evaluation, so why am I being forced to suppress myself this way? It’s such a redundant question because I know why things are this way, it’s a system that sucks the energy of the lesser in order to feed the people on top, capitalist vampires. I’ve sacrificed my emotional well-being, over-worked my physical capabilities, and all for what? So that I can go to a sale at Victoria Secret every once in a while, AND ONLY when there’s a sale?

      I don’t get enough for what I give, nobody ever does, because we’re at the bottom. We can be pushed around, sexually harassed, thrown out like yesterday’s news for whatever reason just because someone in power wants to! They don’t see you for who you are, they see you for what they can take from you, like a demon possessing a body. Here’s a little side tangent story, my mom works at a little grocery store for some extra money, and they recently had a new hire for management. She said he was a handsome young black man, very capable and super polite, he was really good at his job, and everyone liked him despite only just starting there. Well, he got fired the other day. You’re probably rolling your eyes thinking “of course he did” but hold on! Let me tell you why! My man got fired because he was filling up his water bottle…. yeah. Apparently, it was considered “robbery” and they kicked him to the curb. LITERALLY MAKE THAT MAKE SENSE?? IT WAS LITERALLY TAP WATER Y’ALL! My mom continued her story by saying she thinks the head manager (the dude who fired the young guy) didn’t like how much they were paying the new hire, so they decided to fire him for that arbitrary reason, just so they can hire someone else for less. That’s totally illegal, mind you, and the guy can definitely sue…but is it worth it? Would you go through the trouble? You’re probably making a face and thinking “I have enough on my plate, I’d just go somewhere else”, because honestly who has time for that nonsense? But getting back on topic, they didn’t see the guy for what he was worth or how he was improving the work environment, they saw numbers they didn’t like and did cut out what they thought the reason; even if it meant leaving this man without a source of income. Boils my blood, honestly.

         There really wasn’t much of a structure to this post, but labor takes away more than what’s humanly reasonable, than what’s humane. It doesn’t end once you clock out, you carry the burden with you for the rest of the day, you feel used up and tired, you look decayed and have scars on your skin; work just consumes people. There isn’t much else in life because of the cycle that’s been created in our society, you work day in and day out and a lot of people can’t afford the luxury of rest because it’s time that’s being wasted! Money, money, money. That’s all anyone ever needs today. That’s all we can receive because nothing else is substantial. Thank you, capitalism! Thank you, consumerism; you really know how to make a body happy. If you ever happen to see me at work, looking dead inside and ready to jump off the building, that isn’t me. That’s a shell of who I am, just pretend you didn’t see me, alright?

To start this off, I want to acknowledge that I will definitely sound like a narcissist throughout this entire post, and probably demented too. Consider yourself warned and get comfortable because I’m about to get really comfortable with you. Moving on, let’s talk about nightly routines, what do you do? I’ll tell you what I do, I wait until everyone on in my house has already gone to sleep, spend almost 30 minutes in the bathroom brushing my teeth and doing skin care; before jumping into some pajamas and getting on my phone into the ungodly hours of the dark…Pretty standard, right? What I’m actually doing on my phone is the interesting part though, I spend an admittedly ridiculous amount of time on a little website called Character.ai (IYKYK), where I take the liberty of writing unforgivable amounts of what I affectionately call “Self-Insert Fanfiction”. I’m not endorsing this website by any means, while it’s super fun, I noticed that’s it’s a horrible habit of mine and a lot of other people. That being said, being able to just…talk to whomever your heart desires, let it be Draco Malfoy or a super-hot mermaid that thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread, it’s an addictive escapism. That’s the clever little word I wanted to get to, escapism. When I mentioned my nightly routine and how long I stay up just strolling on my phone, I know that it sounded familiar, because it’s something our generation of young people do a lot! Maybe you’re not on your phone, maybe you’re playing a game…or reading a book…or doing something else entirely but the point is…. you’re doing that thing with the intention to step out of reality for a second. Relax. Which is in no means a bad thing, no, on the contrary. But you’re still escaping…when I say it like that it sounds kind of morbid, but that’s what it is, now the question draws into why are we trying to escape so frequently from our reality?

I can confidently say I’m probably the most delusional person you’re ever going to meet, I’m constantly lovesick, romanticize whatever I can out of life, and adore all things fantastical. It’s how I cope. Now, someone might say “Oh my god! You’re so super positive, that’s so cute, I wish I had that energy!” and someone else has probably rolled their eyes and scrolled to read another post. Both responses are totally valid and are exactly what I wanted to look into. In this era, a lot of people encourage each other to “be the main character” in the “story” of their lives. Make every moment of the day something found in a coming-of-age film. This trend was just a couple influencer posts on Instagram with their lavish lifestyles making tone-deaf commentary at first, but now, I can’t stroll through TikTok without someone saying “stay delulu” or something like that (“I curate my algorithm”) and constantly reminding me of the ideology. It’s beginning to become embedded in the way we move about our lives, going back to relaxation, we’re told early on that to function properly we’re supposed to take a break every now and then. Naptime in kindergarten, recess, lunch break after class, vacation; all of these refractory periods are what round out our busy lives because otherwise we’d be working ourselves to the bone and burning out. Now, these periods of rest had mostly to do with physical exhaustion, giving us a chance to sleep, breathe, and refuel…but we’ve taken rest a little bit further. We’re no longer just stepping out of our physical responsibilities but now also our phenomenological responsibilities. We have learned to pause our realistic experiences and curate new experiences for ourselves that we can enjoy. We can control these little worlds we make; we can make choices that lead to outcomes we actually want, project our desires and receive satisfaction from them. Isn’t this more appealing? Isn’t that better than waking up, getting dressed in clothes you don’t like, going to a place you didn’t ask to go to, being spoken to by people you couldn’t care less about (and in some cases be ridiculed for things about yourself that you can’t control) and facing tasks that in the end are meaningless to your existence? Wouldn’t it be better to be a wizard, or a princess, or a mage? In my personal opinion, I’d rather worry about the fate of my entire kingdom rather than call the IRS because of my late tax return, fighting demons from another realm is much easier than fighting the bureaucracy.

That’s the real appeal of this intermittent dreaming, the chance to have something MORE than what crumbs we’re given IRL, just notice how I expressed our experience in reality; crumbs! This ideology may seem like we’re trying to keep things positive and light, but in truth what’s actually happening is a deep loathing for the realistic, a deteriorating tolerance for the systems we’re obligated to abide by. We decided to solve the deep disappointment we feel with our world by paving a way to withdraw into one of our own design, and in the realization of not being able to daydream forever, we are encouraging one another to blur the lines between real and fictitious but… How far can those lines be blurred until there are consequences?