Beautiful

“Alright now I want everyone to start by saying their name and something about themselves,” said the fake woman sitting in the middle of a circle of chairs, all filled with high school drop outs, drug addicts, sixteen year old mothers, and just about every other type of misfit you can think of.

And then there was me. I wasn’t an alcoholic, a junkie, a teen mom, or anything else that would fit me into this stupid support group my mother insisted I join. I was just your average kid. Your average kid with an eating disorder.

“What’s your name, miss?” asked the woman. I hadn’t noticed it was my turn to introduce myself.

“I’m Marissa.”

“Hello Marissa,” the group said robotically.

“And what makes you unique, Marissa?” the leader asked, smiling. She was so phony all I wanted to do was punch her lights out.

“I don’t belong here,” I answered quietly. A few of the group members sneered.

“Now, now. We all belong here, we’re all trying to become better people. We’re all trying to make the world a better place, and we’re starting by filling it with beautiful people.”

I gritted my teeth. My temper wasn’t the easiest to keep. One of the pregnant girls beside me snickered as she chomped down on a candy bar. She smacked while she ate. These were the days when I was reminded of how disgusting and repulsive the human race is.

“So why is it exactly you’re here, darling?” asked the woman.

“I’m here because I want to be beautiful.”

“Ah, well this class will certainly help you become beautiful inside and out.” She smiled. I’ve never seen a faker smile in my entire life.

“No, it won’t. I was on my way to being beautiful before I was stuck in this stupid clinic for hopeless addicts and spoiled sluts.”

The woman gasped. “Now now, that was not called for. We’re all here to improve our lives, not to make others feel bad.” She shuffled some papers in her hands before stopping and pulling one out of the pile to read. “So you’re Marissa Greene, correct?”

I nodded.

“It says here you have come to us because you have an eating disorder. Marissa, that won’t make you any more beautiful.”

The pregnant girl beside me snorted. I couldn’t decide who I wanted to hit more, the director or her.

“Like any of you would know anything about beauty! You’re all either crack heads, knocked-up girls, or fake group directors! You don’t know one single thing about how hard it is to be beautiful! Food isn’t beautiful, food is the enemy. Just like half of you think sobriety is the enemy, or condoms are enemies,” I blurted out. The girl beside me finally shut up.

I stormed out of the room and down the hall. This was all so stupid. They can’t interfere with what it takes for me to be beautiful. I will be beautiful. Even if it kills me, I will be beautiful.

Opening the front door of the clinic, I counted to thirty. That stupid anger exercise never worked for me. I unchained my bike from the old parking meter where I had left it just fifteen minutes prior to that god-awful meeting.

I pedaled off, even though I didn’t really know where I was going. I guess my body knew where it wanted to go, because it took me. I didn’t give one single thought to my destination; all I could think about was that stupid clinic.

After riding for about ten minutes, I seemed to have simmered down a bit. I ended up at the beach, I guess because it was one of the only places where I could calm down. Ditching my bike on the sidewalk, I climbed up on a wall facing the ocean. This was my normal routine of my cooling down process.

I sat there for what seemed like ages, watching the sun sink lower and lower in the sky. There was a brief shaking sensation in my pocket. I hesitated to check my phone, it was probably just my mother asking why I wasn’t home from the clinic yet.

I flipped open my piece-of-shit phone, and waited for the text to open. I shook the fossil of a cell phone until it finally responded and obeyed my command. It was from a number I didn’t recognize, but the words that were on it are ones I will never forget. The text message read:

You are beautiful just the way you are.

I stared at the words in front of me for a few moments, tears forming in my eyes. The very next day, I went to the clinic, and I stayed. With the help of the clinic and of that stranger’s words, I became beautiful, inside and out.