We had been through almost four stores before we realized we had been looking at the most expensive stores we possibly could in hopes of finding swimming suites that would work for our body types. Victoria Secret had nothing for us. Neither did Forever21. JCPenny had been disappointing as well. “Wait, why haven’t we tried Target?” I asked her as we tried to find my brothers in the sea of people swarming the mall on a Friday night. We agreed to drag them there once they were found.
We spent another twenty minutes scouring the swimwear area of target while both my brothers proceeded to seek out the electronic section. We didn’t mind. We were going to be sisters soon, and needed all the bonding we could possibly get. So we looked. Trying to imagine what each piece would look like when we put them on. Finally we just decided to grab whatever swimwear we could hold, because there was just no way of knowing if they would work or not. Then we tried just grabbing the most ridiculous ones we could find, because what could it hurt?
I had never in my entire life owned a bikini. Never. But of course, in my desire to lose some weight, I began to wonder if it was worth a try or if I should even bother. She had only ever worn bikinis. She was top heavy with a flat tummy. I was…well…I had rolls in places I really didn’t want them. A chest far too big for most bikini tops. A middle that was…too big for bikini tops as well. I just didn’t know. I didn’t know if I wanted to know. But I figured I would just try for fun, because all it could do was motivate me to get to that point.
So we tried things on. Everything she came out in was cute. Not everything I tried was going to work. So we moved onto the ones we pulled out for fun. One I had, ended up really working for me. It fit in all the right places, and yes, I actually thought I looked good in it. So I bought it, in hopes that one day I would look even better in it. A girl can dream can’t she?
Then I proceeded to go home and eat 600 calories over my daily calorie budget. I was super upset with myself. The. I became upset having bought the bikini too. When was I ever going to wear it? It’s not like I don’t have stretch marks and scars from my insulin pump! Why was I even torturing myself that way?
I hate worrying about food, so much. I hate worrying about weight and insulin intake. I hate having to deal with failing health and trying to keep myself afloat with little things like calorie counting and exercise. What I hate even more than that is how disastified I am with looking in the mirror. With the comparisons I make with other women. Why can’t I just like the way I look? Or even more so, why can’t I just change it faster? Why can’t I just get better and healthier and suddenly look better? Why can’t I just feel prettier no matter what? Why the battle at all? Why the low blood sugars after the work outs causing me to eat back the calories I just lost? Why the desire to be desirable to men who are conditioned to like skinny women? Why am I doing it for me and a hundred other people? Why not just for me?
When will I get a bikini body?
I dress those kinds of bodies at work. Flat stomachs and perky breasts that put most thin young women to shame. The bust forms and mannequins usually wearing size 6 pants and small shirts. I am forced to pin clothes in a manner that makes the shirt look even tighter, showing what little hourglass figure they have. I often wish I could be that figure. Perfectly symmetrical and properly proportioned. Sporty and delicate, instead of this thick fleshy body that jiggles with every movement. Oh to be made of plastic. To be as small as those mannequins in their painted pearly iridescence. The ideal of societies perfection…and their unrealistic expectations of food.
I don’t have answers for my body questions, but I think I need to go take a walk on the treadmill because I just ate a whole bunch of pizza about an hour ago and I regret it.