Beautiful

We lay together with our eyes closed, both of us smiling and happy, warm in the afterglow of sex. I curl into him, his strong arms wrapped around me. The world is gone, but for the two of us. Nothing else is real but this.

He gently kisses the top of my head and whispers, “you’re beautiful.”

I blink my eyes open and look down, away from him. His heartbeat hasn’t changed and his breathing pattern is the same. I know he believes he gave me a gift. He’s told me this before, that I’m beautiful. Many times in fact. I thought if I heard it enough I would believe it. But that hasn’t happened yet.

I look down at how my body squishes up against itself. I see everything wrong with me and curl tighter into his chest as worries circle in my head. Is he lying to me? Does he really believe I’m beautiful? Or is he just saying that because he thinks I want to hear it? Am I beautiful? How can I be, if I don’t believe it?

How can I be beautiful if when I look in the mirror I’m repulsed? When I take pictures and smile I have to think about anything but the fact that I’m capturing my image for all time? When I watch my videos back, I have to force myself not to gag, thinking someone is going to see this?

Small dots of water build at the edges of my eyes and I blink them away, not wanting to ruin this sweet moment in bed. If only I could believe I was beautiful, it would solve everything. But no matter how many times I stand in front of the mirror and say those words, they taste like ash in my mouth.

I want to throw something at my stupid reflection, scream at it, tell it to be better. For me to be better. For me to be beautiful.

The tears begin to fall slowly down my face now. I can’t keep them at bay anymore. No matter what anyone says, no matter how many times they say it, I can’t believe anyone who tells me I am beautiful until I believe it on my own. I kiss him softly as he drifts into a dreamless sleep and I crawl from the protection of his arms. The world and all its cold realities flooding back.

My bare feet pad along the fluffy carpet and transfer onto the cold tile. I shut the bathroom door and turn on the lights.

My reflection stares back.

The same face, the zits, the pimples, the scars. The same stomach and lack of abs, the rolls of fat, the too-long legs. All of it. I look at all of it and say the words, “I am beautiful.”

Another wave of tears falls but I force myself to say it again. “I am beautiful.”

Again, more tears, but I stand resolute. I can do it. This time. This time I’m not backing down. I am not going to be angry or mad or shout. I am not going to turn away or run.

Instead, I just breathe and look into my hazel eyes flecked with green, which makes a snakeskin pattern. The one physical feature I easily and really do love. I look into them and say, “I am beautiful” as if it were simply obvious. In the same way, two plus two equals four.

I am beautiful.

And I will stand here and do this for as long as it takes, as many times a day, every day until it no longer tastes like the ash of lies but the ring of truth.

Because I am beautiful and it’s time I learn to see it too.