I Am

j e s s i e

I am j e s s i e.

I am happy, I am confident and I love myself.

I mean, there's always room for improvement, and there's nothing wrong with dropping a few pounds, but I am content with who I am.

At least that's what I say to my friend a n d r e a when she comments on my weight on the bus ride home from school.

"Omg I legit wish I could have your body! You're so s k i n n y and pretty," she sighs. "Just look at me. I'm so fat."

So I tell her what any good friend would: of course you're s k i n n y, you look better than me, shut up you're a gorgeous stick.

I try to ignore her words but they torture me from the bus stop all the way up to my bedroom.

I glance at the mirror leaning against my wall. I've only learned to resent it; its the worst thing I own.

"You're so s k i n n y and pretty."

I wouldn't look like this is if didn't always suck in, if I wasn't constantly watching what I eat.

I mean, of course I know I'm s k i n n y, and I have an okay body but... I'm not as s k i n n y as I used to be. And I'm definitely not as s k i n n y as a n d r e a.

I honestly feel like she's fishing for compliments at this point. She's a b e a u t i f u l brunette with an awesome figure, although if anything, she's too s k i n n y. At her height, I don't think being a double-zero is healthy. But I would rather be a double-zero than look the way I do.

I know there's nothing wrong with my body, but it sure feels that way sometimes. And really, I know I'm not ugly and that people like me, I just feel like I want to improve. What's wrong with that?

And where did she get the idea of pretty from?

I mean, I'm not ugly but I'm nothing special.

a n d r e a 's skin is flawless, her smiled glowing, her eyes broken off bits of the sea.

I have blackheads, a slightly crooked tooth, and mud caked to my irises.

I move closer to the mirror and inspect my chin, seeing a pimple begin to pop up, and groan in despair.

At least I've convinced my mom to get me new clothing; it's really embarrassing not to have the latest trends, especially where I go to school.

And don't even get me started on not having the newest iPhone.

I mean, I would be confident in whatever I wore and I'm happy with what I have, but I feel better and prettier wearing what's in style.

But of course it doesn't matter how I look; it's the inside that matters. I just like fashion magazines because they help me look nicer, and there's nothing wrong with looking nice.

And so what if I put on a little makeup to hide my f l a w s? Everyone has f l a w s, so it doesn't matter.

I love myself, every bit and piece.

And honestly, I don't understand people like a n d r e a. I don't get why they're i n s e c u r e.

I'm not i n s e c u r e at all. I don't have time for that stuff, I've got no room for it in my life.

I love myself.

Just sometimes, I don't love the mirror.

And sometimes changing to be like everyone else makes me love myself more.