I am fat, ugly, and short. I wish I was beautiful, or even just acceptable like everyone else, but I know that it will never be.
At varying times in my life, I was told that it was a pity that I was so short, that it was unfortunate that I inherited my dad’s bulging eyes or my mother’s radish-shaped legs. I was told that if only my hips were a little narrower, then maybe my clothes would fit better; if my nose weren’t so wide, then I’d have a prettier face. My recessed jaw was blamed on the fact that my teeth were originally too large for my mouth, causing me to have four teeth pulled and get braces, which in turn pushed my chin and jaw inward. While these things were never meant to be mean, were never said all at once, and were usually uttered as passing comments in response to something in particular, anyone who thinks that children forget old comments by the time new comments are uttered is fooling themselves. As a child when I put it all of these facts together, I felt like I was the imperfect child with absolutely no redeeming physical qualities.