Below the Skin
~Elizabeth Dawn
Melodi stared into the mirror, this can't be it. This can't be life. She thought abut where she had come from, and who she'd traveled the journey with. Her parents being constants. Yeah, constant pains, she acknowledged, to herself. The thought of continuing to "just survive," made her physically ill.
Everyday, Melodi would stand in front of her mirror, as she was doing at the current moment, and tell herself to breath. She would try to feel connected with her body. Yet, there was something missing. Some connection, maybe the one that brought her body and spirit together, and then let them live as one, was missing. She felt as if she were a shell, existing without the spirit. In short, Melodi felt, numb.
She kept a blade on her all the time, especially as of late. It had been difficult to acquire, initially, as her parents had confiscated all her knives and any blades they knew about. Which, was, in essence, all of them. What they didn't know, were seemingly oblivious to, was her ability to find more. Especially with the help of her online "friends." The 'Net was the easiest place to find information on how, what, and where to hide anything that had to do with self-injury. She knew there were people fighting to shut down the "Pro-Ana" sites. Yet, the site she frequented wasn't even thought about. The people, on there, even posted pictures. Photos from fresh, bleeding, cuts to scars of years past. They gave the best suggestions on what items work best, and how to get them. After her parents took all her tools away, she went looking for the sites, the "Pro-SI" sites. It honestly wasn't difficult. Every blog-like thing had one. They each claim that taking any pro-... site off would be against the first amendment. She was thankful for their views. It made things much easier on her. Hell, it made everything easier, when it came to her reality. She could rationalize that, "I'm not the only one. I'm not a freak." Yet, she knew, without even having to go into too much self-analyzation, which it also perpetuated her drive to hurt herself more frequently.
With the assistance she received from the various sites, Melodi took apart a manual-pencil sharpener, taking out the blade, for future use. The whole process was a bit...involved. She first had to find a manual pencil sharpener. Then, she had to wait for a free night, where she could get at a screwdriver. The last, but most important, in Melodi's mind, was disinfecting the blade. The cutting, the bleeding, the scars, Melodi could handle. Getting sick? That was something she had no time for. To Melodi, grades were a way of life. Any grade less than a solid "A," was unacceptable. She could not fail, and that's all there was to it.
Melodi continued to stare at her reflection, wondering. Wondering why she couldn't connect with herself. Wondering why she couldn't connect with anyone, period. Wondering why she was placed on Earth...just to suffer. Stock-still, Melodi looked at every inch of her body, that she could see without shifting.
She took in her face first. Her eyes were too wide set. Not to mention the wrong color. They needed more lashes, and less eyebrows. Her nose was too flat. Maybe she would have surgery, get a little pixie-like nose. Her cheekbones were not defined enough. She definitely needed to go on a diet. Gaining weight was not an option. There was nothing she could do about her pasty skin. She'd try and accept that, at least until she heard of some new treatment. And why did her face insist on growing hair? That would be taken care of, as soon as she turned 18. Her hair, her pride and glory, was frizzing. It's ebony sheen, was disgustingly off set by the mass of spit ends.
Melodi's eyes traveled down to the upper portion of her frame. Her shoulders were too wide. She looked like a football player, and she didn't even need the pads. Her neck was too long. Say noting about the mole on the left side. Although, admittedly, it makes it easier for the chopping block. Where were her boobs? I, truly, think they may have become inverted. However, thanks to Victoria Secret, she didn't have a great fear of being seen, in public. Push-ups work wonders!
Her eyes traveled lower. Looking at her stomach, she new she needed to loose weight. A size 2 was unacceptable. Again thinking about her 18 birthday, she couldn't wait to get her belly-button pierced. Most of the girls in the sophomore class had theirs pierced. Her mother was just a prude.
Her vagina, in all its naked glory, was disgusting If she allowed herself a choice, it would be covered. But, no, her entire body, must be examined, evaluated, and worked on, every day. There was no exception. She stared at it. Wanting to change it, but unsure what she wanted to change it to. Penises were even more ugly. Did she need to have either? Nasty.
Finally, the last region of her body came into the view of her critical eyes. Her legs need sun. They should not be more pale than a ghosts' entire body. She tried to argue with herself, saying that it was mid-February, in northern Minnesota. Yet, she didn't care. That was no excuse. There are no excuses for being less than perfect. Her feet, were, quite frankly, monstrous. Size 9.5. She was seriously considering following a tradition she'd been hearing about in history, where women had their feet clubbed.
Melodi let out a sigh, as she turned away from the mirror. The arms she had, were not a part of her. They were disconnected. Like her spirit. She did not analyze them. They were not hers, why waist time on them?
As she looked through her clothes, Melodi chose specific ones. Clothes that were in complete contrast to how she was really feeling. Clothes that she knew would piss her parents off, and turn the males on. Clothes that made the statement "I am a sexy, capable, woman. I am fun-loving, and free-spirited." She chose a tight, low-cut, lime-green sweater, and black and green, striped pants, which made her look like she'd just walked off a fashion magazine. Her shoes were black, platform, heals, with a, slightly, rounded toe. Her under-garments, from Victoria Secret, were a matching, black-lace, set. The last, article she picked out, were hose. She almost groaned when she grabbed the thin, black, pair. Melodi hated hose, but looking sloppy was, quite frankly, unacceptable.
After taking great pains to make sure everything was unwrinkled, on straight, and caught her curves in the correct places, Melodi did her hair. It was still damp from her shower. Inky, as the night sky, and down to her hips, Melodi's hair could be called her "Pride and joy," if she were aloud to have a pride and joy. She brushed her hair to a high gloss, than twirled it into a bun, leaving strategic tendrils out. After spraying it to a starch, Melodi moved onto her makeup.
If she tried, Melodi could find something bad about her complexion. Excluding the color, she was quite fond of it. It wasn't overly dry, or greasy. She had few blemishes, so few in fact, that she could count any she'd had on one hand. Blush, eye makeup - including liner, shadow, and mascara - and a little gloss, and she was on her way. Her face painted, her smile fixed.
* * * * *
When Melodi got to school, she was seething. Anger gnawed at her insides, trying to overcome her seeming peace. How could they? How dare they? I already had no privacy, and now... Now they think they have the right to go onto my computer and read my files?! The bastards! What I write is private! Melodi, paused, interrupted by Ang, a friend. She gave her hug, envying Ang's ability to wear what she wanted. Ang, was accepted for who she was. What was more, she wouldn't have cared if she wasn't. She was her own person. Ang was in a Sox t-shirt, and jeans. Hair brushed, but messy. No makeup, and tennis shoes. "Hey, Hon! Did you get that Bio assignment done?"
"Nope...I was so tired last night, that I crashed, and drained my brain all night in front of the tube."
"Haha! What are you going to do?"
"What I always do. Steal, copy, and improve on yours."
"Figures." Melodi had already pulled the assignment out of her bag, and was handing it over before Ang even finished. Sometimes she wished Ang would actually do her own work. "You're prob. going to get a better grade than I, again. I hate you!" She joked.
Ang snatched the paper from Melodi, turning away as she did so, "You know you love me!"
"You know it!" Melodi called after her, then whispered under her breath, "Bitch."
With just 20 minutes before class started, Melodi had to get going. She was stopped periodically along the way, with ass-grabs, homework-helps, and even a rare, actual, conversation. Well, actual on his part. Melodi actually did a lot of nodding and smiling. Apparently, she now had a date to the homecoming dance. The guy, now her date, was such a prick! She just wanted to die.
Finally, Melodi made it into her bathroom. The one, the only one, she would use at school. Unlike the others, this one was rarely used. She, hustled into the largest stall, feeling it fitting that she identified with the stall. It was different than the rest, but for all its uses, was the same.
Melodi placed her bag on the ground and standing up, reached into her pocket and took out a small package. She removed the wax paper that held the item she was looking for. The item she craved. The item that held the power to take away all her pain. Her razor blade. The same one she'd worked so hard to get. Sharper and slimmer than a knife, Melodi hid it within a few carefully made "envelopes." She never wanted to accidentally get a cut, so Melodi tried her hardest to make sure an accident was avoided. After every use she would re-wrap the blade in five layers of wax paper. Since she started wrapping them, there hadn't been any accidents.
Looking down at the razor, Melodi's heart cried out for relief. It cried for perfect acceptance, from her. Yet her head demanded perfection in every other aspect of Melodi's life. She was not to let up on her goals. They were worth every physical, and mental, scourging. Her goals were her life.
Melodi lifted up the cuff of her right sleeve and, razor in hand, slashed across her forearm. She left a representative of her pain, her drive, and her endurance for attaining her goals.
* * * * *
A 75 year old Melodi stared into her mirror, one last time before getting dressed. She glanced at her body. Wrinkles and scars marred her body, yet she new, as she had for the last 50 years, she was the most beautiful woman she could ever want to be. She'd filled out, but she'd stopped being afraid of her weight long ago. Melodi, finally, at age 24, had come to terms with the fact that mistakes were inevitable. And, she'd learned, even she was allowed to make them. More importantly, however, she'd learned, to allow herself to do so. Mistakes were a way of life. You can't learn, if you can't make a mistake.
Melodi slowly shook her head as she turned from the mirror. All those years spent trying to make myself perfect, wasted. And still, beauty thrives in me. And still...
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