Disclaimer: Since I’m beginning this challenge again but not restarting the posts I’m a little ahead of myself, obviously. Since this is the case I’m only going to be posting for this challenge every two-three days otherwise I’ll run out of posts before I finish the challenge. Hopefully this will work out nicely, I haven’t really done the math for it yet.
The last compliment I got was actually last night, from my boyfriend in fact. “You’re fucking beautiful.” That really does a lot to boost my confidence, well for a little while at least. For a little while I believed that I was ‘fucking beautiful’ as he says, as a lot of people say in fact. I have brilliant blue eyes, all different shades depending on what mood I am in or if I’m sick or not. I have long blonde hair which is white on top and it fades to brown as it blends into my bottom layer.
I have a ‘pretty face’ but it steadily declines as you go down my body. My boobs are a size 10B; pretty pathetic for an almost eighteen year old girl. I’ve been told “You should eat more chicken” because of all the hormones that are pumped into the chickens so they can grow faster. Well newsflash: I’ve been eating chicken my whole life and my boobs are still small. I’m living proof that the ‘fact’ is a myth. My stomach is ‘flat’ because I suck in every day. My thighs are like ‘chicken thighs’; they begin small then they steadily grow larger until they reach my hips. My calves have a layer of fat that never disappears and my toes are too big for my feet. They are things I need to work on. Always work on.
I think that’s the best compliment I’ve gotten, for a while. There are days that I feel ‘fucking beautiful’ and there are days that I feel the complete opposite. A lot of my happiness [with my body] stems from the flatness of my stomach, the ‘thigh gap’ and the numbers on the scale. Numbers are the one thing that can make me happy right now. There’s nothing else. A low number is one of the biggest compliment.
Maybe one day I can believe that I really am fucking beautiful.