Alone Together

Dejected: sad and depressed; dispirited

Abate: to reduce or to lessen

I am all for people doing what they need in order to change their lifestyles for the better. But as my head is flat on the table and all of the rest lay beneath me, the cold metallic flatform stang into my skin, it is like all my questions began to sink into my conscious all over again. Was I thinking myself into this pain, like I was thinking myself into believing I need to do this surgery?

It happens every time.

I felt the lights in front of me turn dimmer and dimmer. Everything was pitch black, the problems around me began to clearly rise over my head like a constellation. It was a blinding constellation, the dark finally let me see the light. I saw the color white beginning to pour itself into my vision. Half of me lay into pieces next to him when I woke up.

It was not the first time, but I was only about four surgeries closer to the hips and jawline I saw on a woman’s Instagram picture. She was beautiful and I was willing to reconstruct my whole image to look like that. I mean why not? Everybody else is doing it.

I examined my features. I ran my fingers through my thin nose bridge which used to have a rigid feeling to it, my fine cheekbones which used to hide when I smiled, my emphasized bruised lips which used to be slight, my slender face which used to be chubby. I looked beautiful to them, but I looked like everybody else to me. My waistline was smaller, my female features were appealing now but this was not me. I turned my back to the mirror and wished to have my skin back. I felt artificial.

I, so beautiful in other’s eyes, wished to uncrack my ribs, drain the potions from my bloodstream and most importantly to detach myself from my addiction. It constantly dejected itself in me. Knowing I could change what I did not like about myself from one day to another, was amazing. It was temporarily relieving to take from and add to my body. But the visits had become too consistent and I was not the only one. I no longer looked like my mother’s daughter, and she told me my child would portray anything but those lifted cheekbones and thin arms. If anything, I would make my child highly predisposed to an addiction and pour the same burden of perfection onto them. I was to create and determine the life I wanted to live, but it was not the life I wanted to give to a child.

I was clearly confused. What was most important? My child’s life who was not born yet or mine?

Here, we are divided into two groups, the socially acceptable and unacceptable. But little do they know we are all the same, we all want to change bits of our life to feel fulfilled. We all want the self-satisfaction of being able to look in the mirror and feel a reverent love from within. You can not blame me, that is what I wanted but not what I got. It is like smoking to get sober, cutting to feel fulfilled is what everybody around me is doing. I got sucked into the illusions of others’ eyes and made it my own. Yes, I am praised for my looks, constantly get called beautiful. But how many see me for my intellect? The only intellect that is praised is of those who cut and void our blood because we simply do not need that much no more.

The ideal features poured over me like thick drops of dirty water that wet your clothes, making you feel uncomfortable with damp cloth stuck onto your skin as you walk your days. Then those thoughts abate but started again after a period of time.

If you are one to think your body needs to look ideal for happiness, that belief is immensely incorrect. The perfect additions to be made are of those around you and your accomplishments. The ideal reductions to be made are of the negativity of your life, no incisions. I hoped to see perfect, feel perfect, live perfect. But I still stand on the same ground with no internal difference.