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I used to look at these four walls and wonder where my life would end up. I used to feel beaten down, alone, depressed, suicidal. I used to want to kick down the walls and scream the words on my mind, the words that shattered everything I had ever known and made my life feel as though it were crumbling down to the nothing I feared it would be. I had burried myself in the hole that grew into my bed from years of sleeping in the same spot, the same position. I feared change. I feared not having change. I was afraid that I would never make it to a better place. My things lay dormant all across my carpetted floor, not being picked up, like I wanted them to be, but rather laying in their own pitiful mess.
I had made that mess, and though I wanted it gone, I did not know where to begin. That seemed to be the story of my life for years and years. Where to begin? I'd ask myself that question for everything, even the smallest, most mindless tasks. Doing the dishes. Starting my homework. Picking something to drink from the fridge. Nothing ever seemed to begin without serious consideration. Would this bowl of rice and veggies make me fatter than I already beleived I was? Of course, I was certainly not fat, just a little pudge from when I was still a child, and the skin I was yet to grow into.
If anything, I was underweight. I would make myself not eat. It felt like food was the only thing I could control. I don't want anyone to take pity on me. I sound like the typical american girl, you know? The one with the eating disorder. But I wasn't. In my mind, I was far from typical. I was ugly, obese, a monster in porcelain skin. Porcelain dotted with acne and scars from god only knows what. I hated my body, my face, my life. Everything I had been told seemed a lie. I didn't feel pretty. I didn't feel smart. I felt alone, lost, and with no one to tell me the truth. My truth. To me, I was hideous.
It took me years to begin to like myself. Years to come to the fact that I wasn't overweight, nor was I stupid. Or ugly. Or pathetic. Or a pitiful disgrace. I went through so many mental battles. I tried committing suicide, I ran away from home, I wrote down everything I hated about myself and told myself it was all true. I had backslid from the cute, innocent little girl I had been in my early adolescence, transformed myself into a hateful being. I hated myself, which made me hate everyone around me.
When I got accepted into the school I attended high school in, I was determined to be well liked. No matter what. I got all the best clothes I could find, tried to paint my nails every day to match my outfits, wore too much makeup to hide my flawed face. But when I arrived at the school my first day, I automatically felt far overdone. The people who were complimenting me were seeing a person who was not the me I knew. They saw the doll, not the monster inside. That first year of high school, I had learned a lot about myself that I forgot I knew. I had a teacher who cared. She made me realize things about myself that I didn't recognize. In that one year, I had started to overcome my battle with anorexia. I watched and learned as this teacher told me things about myself that I had lost contact with. She helped me realize that, underneath the makeup and superficial personality, I was a human, not a monster.
It has been three long years since I came to this school, and I have since then, stopped wearing makeup. I have stopped freaking out over if people will like me. I have learned that if I want to keep things in order, I have to make them in order. Even if that means having to go through the process of something becoming more of a mess before it gets better. I can now look at myself in the mirror and tell myself that I am a beautiful, creative, intelligent human being. I do not need to be perfected, because I was made perfect.
Today, I wrote this because I felt that if there is any college that wants me, it has to know who I am first. Who I am is not just molded by every day experiences. It is not something that started one day. It is a process. Like college, I will be a work in progress. It might take me some time, but eventually, I will achieve my goal. I will be successful. I will not give up. All I an looking for is a good start to a better future.
Thank you for coming here to review my Essay. I wanted to get other opinions before I added it to my Common App. Please, provide valuable feedback on how to make it tighter, or if I can change anything.
I used to look at these four walls and wonder where my life would end up. I used to feel beaten down, alone, depressed, suicidal. I used to want to kick down the walls and scream the words on my mind, the words that shattered everything I had ever known and made my life feel as though it were crumbling down to the nothing I feared it would be. I had burried myself in the hole that grew into my bed from years of sleeping in the same spot, the same position. I feared change. I feared not having change. I was afraid that I would never make it to a better place. My things lay dormant all across my carpetted floor, not being picked up, like I wanted them to be, but rather laying in their own pitiful mess.
I had made that mess, and though I wanted it gone, I did not know where to begin. That seemed to be the story of my life for years and years. Where to begin? I'd ask myself that question for everything, even the smallest, most mindless tasks. Doing the dishes. Starting my homework. Picking something to drink from the fridge. Nothing ever seemed to begin without serious consideration. Would this bowl of rice and veggies make me fatter than I already beleived I was? Of course, I was certainly not fat, just a little pudge from when I was still a child, and the skin I was yet to grow into.
If anything, I was underweight. I would make myself not eat. It felt like food was the only thing I could control. I don't want anyone to take pity on me. I sound like the typical american girl, you know? The one with the eating disorder. But I wasn't. In my mind, I was far from typical. I was ugly, obese, a monster in porcelain skin. Porcelain dotted with acne and scars from god only knows what. I hated my body, my face, my life. Everything I had been told seemed a lie. I didn't feel pretty. I didn't feel smart. I felt alone, lost, and with no one to tell me the truth. My truth. To me, I was hideous.
It took me years to begin to like myself. Years to come to the fact that I wasn't overweight, nor was I stupid. Or ugly. Or pathetic. Or a pitiful disgrace. I went through so many mental battles. I tried committing suicide, I ran away from home, I wrote down everything I hated about myself and told myself it was all true. I had backslid from the cute, innocent little girl I had been in my early adolescence, transformed myself into a hateful being. I hated myself, which made me hate everyone around me.
When I got accepted into the school I attended high school in, I was determined to be well liked. No matter what. I got all the best clothes I could find, tried to paint my nails every day to match my outfits, wore too much makeup to hide my flawed face. But when I arrived at the school my first day, I automatically felt far overdone. The people who were complimenting me were seeing a person who was not the me I knew. They saw the doll, not the monster inside. That first year of high school, I had learned a lot about myself that I forgot I knew. I had a teacher who cared. She made me realize things about myself that I didn't recognize. In that one year, I had started to overcome my battle with anorexia. I watched and learned as this teacher told me things about myself that I had lost contact with. She helped me realize that, underneath the makeup and superficial personality, I was a human, not a monster.
It has been three long years since I came to this school, and I have since then, stopped wearing makeup. I have stopped freaking out over if people will like me. I have learned that if I want to keep things in order, I have to make them in order. Even if that means having to go through the process of something becoming more of a mess before it gets better. I can now look at myself in the mirror and tell myself that I am a beautiful, creative, intelligent human being. I do not need to be perfected, because I was made perfect.
Today, I wrote this because I felt that if there is any college that wants me, it has to know who I am first. Who I am is not just molded by every day experiences. It is not something that started one day. It is a process. Like college, I will be a work in progress. It might take me some time, but eventually, I will achieve my goal. I will be successful. I will not give up. All I an looking for is a good start to a better future.
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