I’m not one to skirt around what I really think, and I’m certainly not one to tell others how to run their lives, but as a common courtesy, I’m going to warn you right now, the images you might see in this link are a bit disturbing, at least to me.
After seeing this posted on an “official” eating disorder recovery website it turned my stomach inside out and made me want to unsee what I saw. For all of the “empowerment” that website has given me it feeds me this garbage. I mean, isn’t recovery supposed to be about shedding the phony persona that we’re trying to have. Isn’t getting “better” becoming comfortable with who you are, no matter what you see on the outside? Shouldn’t people like and love you for who you are on the inside?
I guess not, and this is proof that the world, is just leaning more towards the “barbie doll” mentality. I’m not, and never will be fit into that mold, and I’m not trying to anymore. This morning I sat over my breakfast pondering how I have wasted my entire 20’s on having an eating disorder. I’ll never get that time, energy, money, or relationships back. Not even the most caked up make up can hide that. It’s innate, it’s inside, and I’m angry.
What made me even angrier, was that I wanted to be like the after pictures just to see what it felt like to “transform” into a confident made up self. Of course, without the proper make up I couldn’t go all out, but what I had on hand at work this gloomy Saturday morning was enough to get the point across, not only to me, but to my coworkers. I’m the same ridiculous person that I am with or without makeup.
I spend a whopping three minutes putting on foundation and glamorizing my eyes. I then proceeded to fume myself out of the bathroom with my hairspray that seemed to spray everything except my hair (now I know what the mystery film all over everything in the bathroom is). I looked in the mirror and for some reason I wanted to throw my shoulders back and strut around like I was a goddess. I took my self portrait and almost had to delete it because to me I looked ridiculous. I looked like a fake me, almost like a me impersonator. It was “Nicole” not Nikki. I exited the bathroom in a grand display of ta-da and of course my coworkers weren’t quite sure how to take it. After some comments I realized, it wasn’t me. They were confused, so I promptly put on some sunglasses and they said, “we like that Nikki better.”
I’m hurt that people feel the need to hide behind paint, but I’m also happy that some people feel more comfortable in their skin afterwards. I just don’t want to be thrown into the same boat as every other female and feel like I need make up. It’s a choice.