I knew I'd get to this topic eventually, so why not sooner rather than later?
Remember that phase of non-confidence I mentioned in my last post? Well, that really affected me. I absolutely hated myself to the point of...extreme measures (open to interpretation). It was a horrible time for me. I avoided my reflection some days and cried habitually. Why couldn't I look the way I wanted to look? Anyone who complimented me I immediately put on a list of mistrust. What kind of sick person, I thought, would compliment me and get my hopes up?
I think the big question is where this all starts. Obviously the hugest influence today is the media. For me, the media was a non-issue. In grade one I was determined that I looked like a mix of Jennifer Lopez and Beyonce. What hurt me were my peers. We often put children on pedestals, announcing their innocence and always good intentions. But think back to your childhood: were your friends like that? Were you like that?
I absolutely was not. In grade four I was a grade A bitch and thought I was better than everyone. It was an attitude I developed in junior kindergarten when I was bullied by this horrible girl. At first I cried and then I realized that to get back at her I'd act like I was better than her (after kicking her a few times in the vagina. I'd only ever kicked my brother in that area and it hurt him because, you know, he has a penis. Unfortunately my bully was a girl).
I have a big ego, I think, that is easily offended. I recover fairly quickly but am still hurt sometimes. One of my least favourite memories took place in grade five. That was a time when the boys at school started being openly interested in the girls and vice-versa. One day we were rating the boys on a scale of one to ten. After we told them their 'scores,' they rated us. They would whisper between themselves briefly first before turning to the girl they were rating to tell them their score. All of my friends got nines and tens. And then the boys got to me.
I remember getting really nervous but at the same time feeling confident. I was good-looking, in my opinion, and I knew it. If the girl next to me got a nine, surely I'm a ten, I thought.
The boys finished whispering and looked at me. Traces of smiles marked their mouths--I took that as a good sign. The--shall we say--"leader of the pack" stepped forward. For the past few weeks I had developed a little crush on him.
"We decided that you're a..." He looked back at the boys who nodded for him to go on. "Six."
Being a six is in no way a bad rating, even in this totally non-valid system. But having such a low score in comparison with my friends and especially hearing it from my crush, that's tough for a girl who's just about to hit puberty. My heart was shattered along with my ego. My confidence held up, but not as strongly. To make matters worst one of the girls was complaining that she had a nine, the lowest score. To cheer her up I said, "Hey, at least it's not a six. That's what I got." Instead of feeling bad for me, and I'll admit that was part of the reason I said it, she giggled and told all my other friends who silently laughed at me some more. And then I realized that the smirks on the boys' faces were not a good sign but a sign that they had been laughing and mocking me as well. Yes, children are so innocent. Their mocking was with good intention, right? Sure.
The next year in grade six I was a little bit kinder and a little more self-conscious but not much. That was the year I was first able to go to these dances that took place the first Friday of every month. I remember my first one. I wore my hair in my 'signature' ponytail (my hair was so damaged by chemical relaxers, it was the only thing I could do to get it out of my face) and I'd put on my favourite jeans and a pink long-sleeve tee that said 'Lucky Ducky.' The two friends I went with and I met this boy at the dance who kept talking and flirting with us. We eventually asked him why he was talking to us. He said, pointing to my one friend, "Well, you're tall and pretty--" he pointed to my other friend, "--you're hot--" and then he pointed to me "--and you're..." The smug smile he'd had on his face faltered and he scratched it head. "I don't know."
Confidence shattered.
I moped as my friends giddily discussed the compliments they had received, just as I had moped the year before after the rating situation. I didn't feel that I looked like JLo or Beyonce anymore. I decided at that point that I was ugly.
Sot this is a super depressing topic, I know. Sorry for the sob story. It sounds a lot sadder typed out. The fact is I needed that to toughen me up. But I do have something to prove.
Why should I care about what others think of me? Because everyone needs to think I'm attractive? Because I need the confidence boost? Even when all those boys told me I was unattractive I still had people complimenting me, telling me I'm beautiful. But it's not just about looks. For a lot of people I know, they're not movie star-gorgeous, but their personality is so attractive that I'd rate them higher than Leonardo DiCaprio or Zoe Saldana (who I wish I looked like now).
Despite my revelation, I'm still obsessed with vanity. What can I say? I like to look good. Some people think I succeed and others don't. And for those who don't, screw them. They're probably ugly anyways. (Kidding.) We can't compare ourselves to others or the people we see on television. Do you know how much work goes into making them look like that? See the Dove Evolution video. They don't just do that for movies, for some this is a daily routine.
Just work on being happy with yourself first. Worry about others later.
Sorry for this horrendous message that I'm sure you're sick of hearing everywhere, but it's true. And I've only recently come to realize that.
I'm getting my haircut later today. Let's pray I don't look like a tool with the new look.
Was that statement hypocritical, going against everything I just said? Maybe. But we're all hypocrites so stop judging me.
You can go back to your life now.
Kiah
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