—
"i k n o w w h o i a m.
i a m n o t p e r f e c t.
i ' m n o t t h e m o s t b e a u t i f u l w o m a n i n t h e w o r l d.
B u t i ' m o n e o f t h e m."
~ m a r y j. b l i g e
—
I stayed silent. She was the last person I wanted to see. I was suddenly sick and all I could smell was ink and sweat from my body. I felt like I was going to pass out.

"Angel, I know you're in there. Let me in. There's ink all over your walls and your room is a mess. Is everything alright?"

I dropped my head in my hands. I'd finally lost control.

"Go away, Alana."

"I swear I'll bust this door down if you don't open it," my friend said in a harsh tone. "Open! Now!"

I sighed. She wasn't going to quit. I sniffled hard. "Fine. But I'm going to keep my eyes closed. I can't... see you right now."

Alana sighed. "It's okay Angel. Just let me see you." Her voice was like a soft melody in my ears.
I wish mine wasn't so raspy.

I closed my eyes and stood, using the edge of the sink for assistance. I slowly walked with my hands outstretched to the door and turned the lock on the handle.
I turned around and opened my eyes, until I reached the counter again, and I sat on the cold tiled floor. I hid my face in my knees and wrapped my arms around me protectively. I felt so vulnerable with this gross ink on my hands and this beautiful girl in my presence.
I heard Alana step in slowly, short clicks as she made the few steps toward me. I felt her presence as her body shifted onto the floor beside me. Her cold hand was on my elbow, and she spoke again softly.

"Angel," she whispered. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

I didn't say anything. I just sat in silence for a second, and began to sob. Alana's small body wrapped around mine and I felt like a boulder. She wasn't making me feel better. I shifted away from her and Alana pulled back, seeming startled.

"Did I do something wrong?" Alana asked.

That made me cry harder. It wasn't her. It was me. Everything about me was wrong.

"No," I said in a choked voice. "Everything about you is right. And that's the problem."

Alana was silent for a moment. "What are you talking about, Angel?"

I looked up at Alana, tears forming a river down my cheeks. I mustered up the courage to mutter the words I've been chanting in my head for years now. Ever since I was young I hated how I looked. I always wanted to be slimmer, curvier. I never wanted to be me.

"I am hideous," I said almost silently. I wasn't crying anymore. I was just numb. I felt like I was drowning on the inside since my tears had clogged up within me. They wouldn't flow anymore. Just saying the words out loud to another person made the statement even more real. "I... am... hideous," I said once more.

And with that, Alana wrapped her arms around me tightly and pulled my torso to hers, holding on tight. I felt tears in my hair from Alana's cheeks, and I began to cry again. The dam had broken in my eyes and I was freely flowing in tears.

"I am hideous," I repeated over and over. I said it so much that Alana ended up clasping a hand over my mouth.

"Stop," she pleaded. "Please stop saying that. It's not true. It's not true." She pulled back and turned my face to look at hers and she brushed sticky strands of dark hair from my forehead and cheeks.

"Angel, you need to believe me. You're beautiful, in so many ways. I wish I was you, every day. I want to be thick like you. I hate being small. It makes me feel inferior around people. I hate looking so deadly pale. I hate my stupid thin hair and my bony arms and thighs. But I've accepted these things about me because I can't change them."

I couldn't respond to her. I felt so silly, crying on the floor with blackened hands. Alana didn't even give me a chance to respond. She stood.

"Stand up and sit here," she ordered, pointing to the counter. "I'll be right back."

I sighed heavily and sniffed, avoiding my reflection as I sat on the bathroom counter. It was cold and slightly wet from the faucet, but I focused on the discomfort of the coldness instead of how much of a mess I must have looked like.

Alana returned within a minute with a black marker, probably the one I used to destroy my walls. She smiled at me and her bright blue eyes shined.

"Close your eyes. Don't question what I'm about to do, but I promise this will help."

I looked at her skeptically, not closing my eyes.

Alana rolled her eyes and sighed. "Do you trust me, Angel?"

"Not at this moment..."

"Oh shut up and close your eyes already!"

I sighed and pressed my eyes tightly together.

I waited patiently for her to begin whatever she was doing, and suddenly I felt a cool tip on my face. It brushed along my jaw line, forehead, cheeks, nose, chest. I even felt it on my knees, just below where my shorts ended.

"Okay," Alana said with a deep exhale. "Open your eyes."

I opened, and slid off the counter, looking into the mirror. My body had been outlined in black ink around my face, my chest, my legs. Everywhere I hated. I looked like a paper doll about to be folded. I turned to Alana, confused.

Alana had her arms crossed, a sad look on her face. She stood beside me and we both stared into the mirror.

"When someone goes to get plastic surgery, this is what they do. They outline the things they want to change."

"So why did you outline me?" I asked. "I never said I was going to get plastic surgery."

"I know," Alana said. "But say you wanted to. The thing about plastic surgery," Alana paused and held up the black marker, "is that its permanent."

That's when I realized the label on the marker. Sharpie.

"These marks can mean the beginning of a big change. There's risk in changing anything about ourselves. There's a chance we may not like it. Additional health issues can arise. So why would we put ourself through the anxiety of change if we can learn to live happily in the body we have now? It's not easy. But it's less riskier than cutting ourselves open or doing some extreme diet."

Her words sank into me each moment she spoke them, and I felt lighter as I allowed myself to accept what she was saying. It was hard to understand at first but she was right about everything. Change is scary. But learning to accept myself would be a whole new level of hard.

Alana then leaned over towards the mirror and uncapped the marker. And then she began to outline her face.

I grabbed her wrist. Her bright eyes met mine, and we stared at each other for a moment, silently communicating. We both knew we were unhappy with the way we looked, and we wished we were each other. But the beautiful thing was that we had each other and we knew that we didn't want the other to change for anything. That's all that mattered. Somehow I'd find happiness in myself, and Alana was going to be by my side the whole way.

I took the Sharpie into my hand.

"I'll mark you this time," I said with a playful smile.

Alana let me.

And as I finished, we hugged tightly.

"You're beautiful, Alana," I said.

She chuckled. "And you're an angel. That's why it's your name."

I pulled back from the embrace and looked into my friends eyes. "I just need to find my glow."

Alana nodded and gave me a sad smile.
"We both do."
—
A / N
I decided not to get into "what really matters is the inner beauty", only because many know that but choose to ignore that statement. But this short story can show why it's best for us to keep our body and it's imperfections rather than risk it becoming worse. God gave us our bodies so we gotta work with what we got. Don't go to extremes and risk hurting the only body you've got!
Comment below one thing you love about yourself 👑
For me, I love my eyes.