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Not Good Enough

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I told myself I wasn’t good enough.
That was my first lie, I think.
As if an A minus differed from an A
Or a size 0 differed from a size 00.

I don’t know when I started believing myself.
I think I was fourteen.
I told myself that whatever I did, I did it wrong.
That I should be more perfect.

I told myself that the reason my teacher didn’t like me was because I was fat.
The reason I wasn’t popular was because I was ugly.
I wasn’t smart, or fast, or strong, or brave, clever, amiable, silly, humorous or trendy.
And that was why.

So I turned away from where I could stand comfortably.
I dropped whoever used to be my friend.
I locked my door so I could be alone.
And I threw rocks at trees so they could break like I had broken.

One day, I ate too much at lunch.
I always used to eat.
So I went to the bathroom.
And I threw up.

I flipped open my Swiss Army knife one day.
I’d gotten it for my 12th birthday – my very own pocketknife!
I was so excited.
I kept thinking I would use it when I got lost in the woods on my camping trip.

I’d never used the knife before.
The blade was freshly sharpened.
So I dragged it across my palm.
And I started bleeding.

The next day, I shaved my legs.
And I cut myself by accident.
Instead of putting a Band-Aid on like I always did,
I opened the incision a little wider.

And I watched my blood pour out.
It dyed the water pink.
I drained the tub.
And I took the razor and a bandage to my room.

I don’t need to write down what happened next.
I think you know.
But an A minus is no different from an A
And a size 0 is better than a size 00.

Written by Isabelle
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