• One day, in the sixth grade, a girl came up to me as I was walking to Honors Literature. She was about 5'4, twelve years old, and probably 110 pounds. I was 5'2, twelve years young, and I wieghed around 115. She took one look at me and rolled her eyes, then whispered to her friend,"Gosh, Breenda, look at that cow. She could use a salad."
    Breenda laughed and stepped on my new white sneakers, scuffing them with her cheap high-heels. I tried not to cry until they were safely inside the classroom, but I'm sure that a tear slipped down my cheek. The bell rang, and I raced to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. I was looking at a disgustingly ugly girl. She was wearing a light pink T-shirt, stained with something green, an aqua mini-skirt, that showed how huge her thighs were, and her make up was smeared down to her cheek. I was looking at myself, I was seeing myself as how everyone else saw me.
    But the truth was that isn't how everyone saw me, people saw me as a pretty little girl. I had long, curly red hair, a shirt that showed off my B-cup breasts, but didn't make me look like a whore, the shirt had a small green paint stain from Technology Education, and I was wearing a mini-skirt that showed off my flawless, pale skin. My make-up was smeared from crying, though.
    I pulled up my shirt and looked at my stomach. There was a birthmark on my stomach shaped like a small, but twisted star. There was a small "pooch" of skin that hung over my skirt top, but to me it looked like I was pregnant. More tears flowed down my moist cheeks. I felt like I was going to throw up, I had finally realized that I was disgusting.
    I leaned into one of the stalls and kneeled down in front of the toilet. I dug through my purse and found the toothbrush I had gotten from the orthodonist. I stuck it down my throat and bile ran up and into my mouth, filling it with disgusting acid. I spat it in the toilet and did it a few more times. Then I got up and the toilet washed into down the pipes. Wiping my mouth with a "chunk" of toilet paper. The soft paper was sandpaper scraping off my lips. Next I washed my hands in the sink, fixed my makeup and wiped off all the paint on my shirt.
    Walking to class I felt empowered, but I also felt weak and my mouth tasted disgusting. I knocked on the door and told the teacher that I had to go to the nurse for "girly reasons". She nodded and beckoned me to my chair. I smiled as she continued the lesson.
    I had not been caught.
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    I got caught for the first time, and was warned that continuing would hurt myself. It would destroy my life.
    I also met a guy who thought I was beautiful. He said he loved me, and that I didn't need to purge myself to be beautiful.
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    He broke up with me and I started purging again...
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    I woke up in a hospital bed with a pounding headache and a wristband on my ankle because my wrist was too small for it to fit. That is the exact moment that changed my life.
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    Here I am, six years later. I am 5'7, a senior in high school, prom queen, and 132 pounds. I have a ring on my finger from a young man who is in school to become an instrumental teacher. He is handsome, intelligent, caring, and he thinks that I am beautiful on my worst days. He makes me happy when I feel like crying, and always has a big silly grin when he sees me.
    Standing with him at the alter in a few years would make my joy into complete bliss. I lay in bed and dream about that day, hoping that it would come sooner.
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    I am standing at the alter, my stomach round with a child, with Daniel. He is holding my hands and sliding another ring on my finger. After I slide a ring on his, he puts his hands on my stomach and smiles at me. His goofy grin makes me giggle, then cry. He says two simple words that would join us forever,"I do."
    "I do.", I repeat and throw my arms around him.
    "Your so beautiful, Lacee. Everytime I see your face I thank every god and goddess there ever were that I have you. Everytime that I am away from you I feel like my mind is on autopilot. Lacee, I love you doesn't even cover all the feelings I have for you.", Daniel kisses me with a myriad of passion.
    I finally feel beautiful.
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    Lacee dies peacefully in her sleep. She is 83 and has twenty one grandchildren and one great-grandchild. She is mourned deeply by Daniel and is remembered until the last of her great-grandchildren die.
    She had a great life and was blessed with beauty, but cursed with insecurity.