As I looked at my naked form in the mirror, I realized that I'm unlovable. My hips are too wide, my breasts sag too much, my stomach isn't flat enough, my waist isn't small enough, and there's too much hair in places where there shouldn't be. I then looked at my face; I suffer from post-adolescent acne. I have dark spots all over and I can't pass them off as cute freckles. My nose is too big (no wonder my brother "affectionately" called me pig nose when I was younger). And then there are my eyes, the worst part of all.

My eyes are just there--they don't tell any stories, they don't look into any souls, they aren't big or have a special color, they're there just to complete my face and not make me look like more of a freak. I'm not beautiful, I am ugly and I've grown content with that.

"Come on honey, you need to get ready. We are going to leave any second," she said.

That's when I decided to put on the red dress. That's the dress I get the most compliments in. That's the dress everyone thinks is beautiful. It's one of the classic situations of the dress wearing the girl, not the girl wearing the dress. Looking at it on the hanger it really does stand out like a supermodel on a runway trying to be "fierce" (whatever that is). It falls to my knees and has ruffles that flare out, camouflaging my hips. The scoop neckline with quarter length lace sleeves hides my chubby arms.

I left my room and went to the kitchen to grab a cookie before we left for the party, even though I knew I would be eating there. I guess I see the cookie as being like a glass of wine or a shot of hard liquor; it opens me up to a new situation and gives me a sense of comfort before entering the unknown.

"Remember no eating, I don't want you to gain weight. You look beautiful in that dress, I want you to be beautiful like this all the time," she said as she gave me a hug.

That's when I decided I needed the cookie like a drug addict needs their drug of choice to feel complete, to feel like they can do anything. When she wasn't looking I took the cookie and ate it. It wasn't particularly good and was kind of stale, but it made me feel prepared for the party. I decided if the weight gain showed on my dress, I could always purge it out; I can just stick my fingers down my throat and vomit. Hopefully, I can just choke on that vomit and not have to go to any more silly parties, where she tries to set me up with boys even though I can get my own dates (I'm highly bad at this but eventually it will get better. Maybe. I'm not sure).

"Don't eat! It's like you want to get fatter. Don't you want to be beautiful? Don't you want to be loved?" she said as she looked at me disapprovingly eating the cookie.

As I stand in the kitchen, in my red dress, I know I will never be beautiful. I will always be ugly. I will always be unlovable.