They call it phi. The golden mean. It's the divine proportion, the extreme and mean ratio, or in its numeric form, 1.618. Ever since Dr. Marquardt created his infamous 'phi mask' with the said mathematical ratio, it's also been known as the ultimate measure of facial beauty.
I call it one of my worst nightmares.
Like so many other girls, I was raised with Barbie and the Disney princesses as my greatest idols. These females epitomized everything I wanted to be; they were strong, clever, kind, and above all, beautiful. However, I soon realized that I didn't measure up to those lofty standards. During my formative years, I was constantly bullied for a single trait that was to become my constant demon: my weight.
It all began somewhat mildly. Initially a few kids called me 'fat' here and there. I admittedly didn't handle that the best way I possibly could've-but then again, what four year old has the maturity to deal with that kind of a touchy situation tactfully? Even now, a good many years later, I don't think I'd be able to deal with those types of scenarios with as much class or maturity as I ought to.
Then came the taunting chants and more constant bullying. At that point, I came home every day crying because of what cruelties my peers would tell me. Some of my family joined in, making some not so subtle jabs about how I ought to lose weight for this reason or the next.
One day, I finally had enough. After coming home from another terrible day at school, I locked myself in the bathroom for over an hour. I remember crying and searching through the medicine cabinet for some laxatives I had seen in there before. I knew very well what the pills were for, and I had experienced their effects when the situation had called for it before. I figured that they would be the sure-fire solution to my problem. I didn't know how wrong I was, or that they were only the beginning.
When at last I found them, I took more than double the recommended adult dosage and stashed a few of the pills in my room. That night, I refused to eat dinner on the grounds that I had a bad stomachache. After the high dose of laxatives I had taken, that wasn't entirely untrue, either. I did the same thing the next morning with my breakfast.
I was only seven and a half at the time.
In this all, I've done horrible things to my body, things I'd never wish anyone to do themselves. I wouldn't even wish these types of things on my worst enemy. From then on, I started experimenting with laxatives and severely limiting my food intake. I went on diets of my own creation, each being more outlandish and unhealthy than the one preceding it. I've gone on exercising crazes, sometimes exercising for hours just to burn off the several hundred calorie allowance I had given myself for the day. I've gone through fazes of becoming excessively concerned with every last calorie, bit of fat, and carb entering my body, using trackers and all manner of devices to measure all of the calories both entering and exiting my body. I'd weigh myself constantly, looking for even the slightest deviation within my weight in ounces. I'd stand in front of the mirror frequently to inspect every angle of each of my presumed fatty areas, and I'd wear baggy clothing to conceal them. I also refused to take pictures because the camera added weight and drew attention to imperfections.
Any sense of confidence I had prior to this all was entirely obsolete, replaced with an overwhelming feeling of inadequacy. I would never reach my ideal, and that depressed me to no end.
Needless to say, it was my obsession. To a certain extent, it still is.
I'll be very blunt-I didn't go looking for help. In fact, I was vehemently against it. To ask for help would be the same as admitting my own failure in my warped logic, something that perfectionists like myself don't exactly do for kicks.
My mother's attempt at an intervention for my eating disorder was performed with me kicking and screaming. Despite the many repercussions I had suffered, I was very obdurate in my refusal to recognize that I had a problem. It took several years of reflection, the wonderful support of my more immediate family, and at times, their tough love, to make me realize that I had an issue which needed addressing.
With their help, I was able to begin my recovery. Slowly but surely, I worked on trying to accept myself the way I was, however imperfect that was. That's been a constant process for me, and one that I'll probably have to deal with for the rest of my life.
By then, however, I was already suffering some of the consequences from my poor decisions. I was anemic, almost fainted many times, grew very weak physically, had trouble focusing on anything requiring mental energy, and my immune system was terrible. I could go on to list a whole slew of other repercussions I've brought upon myself because of my inherent desire to be beautiful, but I think I've made my point sufficiently in that area.
I do relapse sometimes. As they say, "Old habits die hard." All the same, I'm extremely grateful for the support system I have. Without my mother in particular, I wouldn't have the motivation to continue with my recovery.
Phi. Barbie. The golden ratio. Disney royalty. 1.618. All of the aforementioned things are expressions of the same concept; a universal desire for perfection within all of humanity. It's what's led to some of our mankind's greatest achievements. After all, the Great Pyramids of Giza, the Parthenon, and most of da Vinci's art contain the ratio as an element to their grand appeal.
At the same time, this aspiration for perfection has led so many girls to do things that they'd otherwise never do. It's led many to go to great measures in their vain pursuit of beauty and acceptance, a pursuit I once chased in my not so distant past. It's what's led to many consequences that I still deal with to this day.
I'm not going to try to persuade you to not make the same mistake as me-it's your choice either way. All I ask is that you remember my story and the countless others like it before acting. Remember our foolish choices, and remember the price we're paying for them. Then make your choice.
I hope that, unlike us, you choose wisely.
"If you look for perfection, you'll never be content."
― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
