The Best Friend to the Beautiful

You’ll never really know when it started. You can give an approximate date or circumstance that triggered the downfall but it’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment you started to hate yourself. Hate. That’s such a strong and powerful word and yet, why do I so often use it to describe who I am? From a young age, perhaps younger then what should be allowed, we begin to notice the little imperfections about ourselves. Maybe it’s the acne that is spread across your face that has haunted you for the better portion of two decades. Or perhaps is your nose that 3mm too much to the left. Your thighs and how they jiggle with every movement and your ever-growing belly. It could be your academic grades that aren’t up to par to that of your friends, or how you missed making the national team by a quarter of second. Whatever your flaw is, you fixate on it and blow it out of proportion.

Let me tell you what it’s like to be the best friend to the beautiful girl. The girl who has the beauty of sirens and the grace of a world-class ballerina (and the figure of one too). Her brains could be compared to Einstein and her child-like, carefree laughter brings the birth of fairies. If you are unfamiliar with the tale of Peter pan and the life of a fairy, I apologize for the deprivation of your childhood. With every step, she lights up the world and men line up with the chance that she will acknowledge them. It’s hard being the best friend to someone who has everything you ever wanted and has the kindness that could be compared to that of Gandhi.

Everyday you wake up and wish you could be like her. Maybe if my thighs were a little bit skinner, my face was clearer, and I wouldn’t get all caught up in my head, people would like me. So you try. You go on the diet, you take the pills that are terrible for you but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter in your eyes. You force a smile and laughter and try to put yourself out there but the failures and condescending past catch up to you. You get a part-time job at a local pub, in hopes that you will overcome your anxiety and talk to others. But then she gets a job there too and although you love working with her, a part of you hates it. You hate it because you hate yourself and trust, it takes a lot of energy to hate yourself as much as you do. People ignore you at the pub, they fixate on her beauty. Walking down the street, people mistake you for the best friend. A stranger walked up to me. ‘l just wanted to say that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” Then he notices that you are not HER. ”Oh sorry, nevermind. I thought you were someone else.” He walks away, leaving me broken and a contemplating jumping in front of that oncoming train there and then. It’s funny actually. How much that thought pops into your head. With every passing car, train, bridge you think ”I could end this right here and now. This unbearable, insufferable life could be over.” You stop yourself, there is no need to go into the details of the ways you have planned your death. The letters you had written and torn up. The frequency of times in a day that you look at that knife and force yourself to put it down. No, being best friends to the beautiful is not an easy task.

You want someone to call you skinny. You want someone to wait up just to make sure that everything is alright, but you know that is never going to happen. No one ever cares about the ugly fat girl. No one wants to be her friend. You’ve actually managed to convince yourself on countless occasions that the beautiful girl is only your friend out of pity. You’ve gotten used to being on your own and taking care of yourself because you know that no one else will. For the rest of your life, it will be you versus the world. But the world is not a kind place. It is a place filled with judgemental, vein, and selfish individuals, yourself included. The world will always take the beautiful girl over you. That’s just the way it is. At the end of the day, you’ll only be remembered for being the best friend of the beautiful girl, nothing else. There’s nothing else of you worth remembering.

So why bother?