I WANT TO BE BEAUTIFUL

Vain? Maybe... Honest? Definitely. I've always chased beauty, and beauty's always chased me like this little game of cat and mouse that perhaps was only ever meant to be just that, but became something much more. I don't just want to be beautiful anymore; I’ve become thirsty with my necessity for it in my life. But it's been drowning me for a long time, Dolls, and I can't catch the air anymore.

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I want the perfect limbs that everyone marvels at, the ones without any fat on them, like the supermodels in the magazines. I want the body that stands out in a crowd, the one all the boys fight over. I want those big sparkling blue eyes that are like the ocean. And the effortlessly silky, straight hair. I want the inner beauty of the girl that's popular, the one everybody loves, the one everyone wants to be, the girl with the heart of gold that never gets in trouble, hurts anybody or does anything wrong. I want the long, perfect fingers with almond-shaped nails like the Disney princesses in the movies. I want to be the girl that you walk past who smells so good that you remember it for days. I want to be the girl who knows how to do her makeup so well that she always looks like she's going somewhere fancy. I want to be the ‘it’ girl in the media, so, yes, the pretty girl... the perfect girl.

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But here I am, Dolls, on this troublingly thin piece of ice, risking my life for something that, for others, is only a thought that pops into their mind from time to time. To put it bleakly, Dolls, I'm killing myself purposefully and willingly out of this desire to be beautiful. Now, if I really dig deep, Dolls, I also want to note to you that my ED is not just about being beautiful. I kill myself, also, for the reasons of feeling not good enough, inadequate, and unworthy. Nothing in life is that simple, Dolls. But nonetheless, beauty is a component, and that is something I can recognise to be deeply sad, not often within myself, but when I see it in others like me, unwell, at the hands of a troubled mind.

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The first part of getting help was recognising that I had a big problem and an unhealthy obsession. Once I was officially diagnosed with an eating disorder, I had a label for all of the horrible emotions and terribly poor body image issues I'd been experiencing for years, in fact, for nearly my entire life. And once I had a label, I could seek support from places and professionals equipped to manage others who felt the same way I did. I realised that I wasn't an outcast. And that reduced the shame that had been accumulating like a ball of dust in me for years, in all of the little moments. I think it can be daunting asking for help in fear that the person on the receiving end will look at you all puzzled and say, 'I've never seen or heard of this before'. But I promise you, Dolls, that I've taken that first step for you. There definitely are other people like you out there. I know that because I'm one of them, and on top of that, I know that there are methods and means of treatment and support. You just have to be willing to ask, receive, and accept.

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I want to be beautiful, but I also want to be alive and with an eating disorder, the more you strive for beauty in the form of perfection, the more you are, ultimately, striving for death. Sorry to be real, Dolls, but I'm okay with being real if it saves a person's life.

Kisses,

COS x