Waking up, I hope that today will be a good day.
A good body image day that is.
I make my way to the bathroom.
First thing I make eye contact with is my biggest enemy:
I quickly glance over my body as if it were a manequin in a store front window.
Turning slightly to the right, I slide my hands over my midsection to feel the damage.
Sucking in, my hands glide over the bumps from my ribs to my hip bones.
I pinch the fat from my lower stomach with a disapproving face.
A sigh escapes my mouth.
"It never fails to sneak up on me."
I say as I squeeze tooth paste on my tooth brush.
While brushing my teeth, I ponder questions that never seem to go away.
"Does every teenage girl feel this way about their bodies?"
"Why can't I appreciate my body for how it is?"
Picking out an outfit is probably the worst part of the day.
I shimmy into a pair of comfy jeans and button them hesitantly.
Sliding a tee-shirt over my head, I immediately critique how it fits.
I shake my head and throw the piece of cotton onto the floor.
Not approving of the next dozen of tops I try on, I result to the first choice.
Flustered and emotional, I quickly gather my school supplies and stop for one more peek.
I shift to the right again to gaze at my profile.
Hundreds of feelings flood my mind.
I tuck my hair behind my ear and scurry out of my room preparing myself for the day ahead.