The Art of You

3 | Sand & Self-Control

tw: body dysmorphia/body insecurities

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I'D BE LYING if I said I didn't wake up with a throbbing headache and an upside-down stomach on Saturday. My memory was hazy, but my body aches reminded me I consumed enough alcohol to get an entire Viking fleet drunk.

Sadie, why must you lack self-awareness and self-control? I hadn't felt this shitty since the Halloween party this past October. The memories of dragging Lucy up the dorm stairs in her bumblebee costume while trying to avoid the RA's made me shudder. I wondered if I had been that wasted last night.

I attempted to move my stiff legs and groaned when I felt grainy specks covering my sheets. Lifting the covers, I noted my clothes from last night and the sand—a lot of sand. It looked like I brought the beach home with me.

"Ugh," I cried out, rolling off my mattress and pausing to gain balance.

The earth shifted under my weight like I was still drunk. I rested my hand on the wall.

Today would not be fun. My blood was already boiling because I washed my sheets last week and needed to do it again. So, I stripped my bed and threw them in the wash, careful not to get sand all over the apartment. Then I undressed and climbed into the shower to scrub off last night's mess.

If it wasn't for Iya's soberness, we would have been sleeping in the ocean with the fish. I was thankful we made it home safely to our apartment nestled in a corner off-campus but surprised the girls walked me up three flights of stairs and put me to bed.

While the hot water cascaded down my back, I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the shower tiles. I swear I heard my skin sizzle.

"Are you alive in there?" Reva's voice boomed through the bathroom door.

    "Barely," I mumbled back.

"I've got coffee and bagels out here."

I thanked her and continued scrubbing until my skin was a bright red. Even though my stomach gurgled like I was on the verge of throwing up, I felt refreshed and was ready to start the day.

As I dried off in front of the mirror, my hands trailed to my stomach. I pinched and prodded at my belly, my hips, my breasts. I gripped the inside of my thighs, tracing my finger over my cellulite. With every bump, my heart cracked open wider.

My body didn't look right. It never looked right. As much as I tried exercising and eating right, it stayed the same. My conscience piped in, convincing myself it was bloating from the alcohol before I spiraled any further. Not having the energy to fight me, I blew out a shaky breath and threw on an oversized sweatshirt so I didn't have to see my rolls.

When I entered the living room, I found Reva, Lucy, and Iya lounging with mugs in their hands. There were blankets strewn across the floor alongside two pillows. Like most party nights, Iya and Lucy spent the night instead of driving back to campus.