If beauty doesn't matter, does that just make you a loser?

Paris has the highest amount of Tourist traffic year round over any other destination.

Aside from the fact that it's somewhat annoying to live somewhere so heavy with tourism, it's given me a continuous refresher of the culture back home.

The culture in France is somewhat different than in the US. Aside from the more obvious, there's this whole bit about how the people(specifically the women) aren't absorbed in dieting fads. There are dozens of reasons why, but the most important to me is that these women KNOW how to take care of themselves, and so they do, and they're proud of their bodies.

This isn't even the point of my post, but I promise I'm getting there.

While in Paris, I haven't seen nearly as many negative ads towards women. There isn't this huge air of horrid self-image. I'm not saying that they don't judge themselves. But the fact is, MOST of the women care about their bodies. They don't sit in front of the tv at night(or ever, really) and binge eat Ben & Jerry's and packaged cookies. They don't snack mindlessly while they do homework/work/sit at the computer. They eat three meals a day. No more, no less. They take their time, and eat until they're just content, not stuffed. And their dessert, unless they're on holiday, usually consists of fruit.

A few weeks back, I was walking to the library, not really paying attention to my surroundings. You know once you know the pattern, and routine of somewhere you're going, and you stop paying attention to the trip, but only the destination? So, as I'm walking, I hear a group of people speaking English ahead of me. Now, remember how high the tourist rate is in Paris? Despite this, I always get somewhat excited when I hear people speaking English. My brain turned off auto-pilot for a minute as I took in this family. One of the girls in the family looked to be about 12-13. She was a bit on the chubby side, and wearing a shirt that said "BEAUTIFUL LOSER".

And I got kinda mad.

I don't think I would ever see a Parisian wearing something self-deprecating like that.

What is it about Americans that make us feel like it's okay to consistently put ourselves down? And have it be accepted by everyone?

Some people argue that if we're drawing the attention to it purposely, it's kind of like owning up to it. Like,if we make fun of it first, no one else can make fun of it, right?

I used to think like that. In fact, 2 years ago my best friend and I made t shirts(Glee style) that clearly stated our biggest physical insecurity. Later that week, we wearing them and another friend walked up to me and said, "Why on earth would you wear that?" I blinked a few times before telling him that I was owning up to my ugly legs. He looked at me like I was stupid, and then told me that he wouldn't have noticed any problems with my legs until he saw that shirt. Once he saw the shirt, he started wondering if there WAS something wrong with my legs(we were at a lake. So seeing my legs all day, every day, is an inevitability).

The thing is, if that girl wasn't wearing a shirt that screamed "LOSER" I wouldn't have thought she was a loser. No one would.

And, I know it said "Beautiful" first.

But that doesn't make it okay.

That's like saying "Only somewhat disgusting brownies". It's okay because they're still brownies, right?

Besides, if "looks don't really matter", than where does leave this girl? With a shirt that just says "LOSER"??

I've since worn that t shirt a few times. Every time I'd wear it, I'd make sure to pair it with something that covered my legs entirely. And the few times my calves were visible, I would feel so so anxious. I didn't feel like I was owning up to this insecurity. I just felt even more insecure. This past year, I put it on one day sitting in the apartment. And Bonnie turned to me and starting asking about the shirt. Finally, she told me to change out of it before the boys came over. "You don't need to feel negatively about that. No one notices anything wrong, until you throw it in their faces." Even if there was no truth to that shirt, people would see it and decide that, yes, I had ugly legs. Because then they were put under scrutiny, and they would see the flaws that I wanted to hide.

Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose?

I digress.

Our culture is one of being okay with the constant stream of negativity we throw towards each other, and it hits hardest on young girls. If you get under the skin of a girl when she's 12 or 13, and she hasn't grown into herself yet, than that bad self-image is going to stick with her, unshakeable, no matter how much her body changes.

And that's just not fair.

You can only hide for so long

***DISCLAIMER: I am about to basically bare my soul to you. If you find this annoying, please don't read***

"Hey, Aurora, why are you wearing your headband on your forehead like that?"
"Aurora, take the headband off."
"EVERYONE LOOK. AURORA'S A BOY."

I can literally look back at my life, and pinpoint the day that set the ground for my depression.

Now, I'm not saying that I've been depressed since I was 6. And I'm also not saying that someone calling me a boy is a cause for depression.

Let's remember that I was 6.

Earlier that day, my mother had been meaning to cut my bangs. And gosh dang it, I was sick of my bangs. So, I did what any rational 6 year old would do.

I decided to cut them off.

So, 6 year old me walked into our bathroom, climbed onto our little white stool, and cut my bangs at the roots, in a very jagged line. Horrified at the outcome, I hoped my mother wouldn't notice the difference when I walked out of the bathroom.

She noticed.

Later that day, after my sisters baptism, a girl in our ward came up and started making fun of me. And at the tender age of 6, I was crushed. Heart broken.

But I got over it.

However, that was just the first of many incidents with this girl. She would see me at church and whisper mean things in my ear when no one was listening. She'd hit me as she walked past me in the hall. If I saw her outside of church? Perfect, there were less people to watch as she would hit me and say horrible things about me.

This went on for two years.

The very last time I saw her, was the day before my family moved from Missouri to New Mexico. I was 8 years old, and my mother had sent my little sister and I to their house to be babysat so she could do some last minute packing. This girls mother babied my little sister, who was 4, and sent me outside with her daughter.

Let's just say that was a painful day, and then we'll move on, okay?

A lot of people are going to say, "Why didn't you tell anyone?" Well, I tried telling her mother, because I didn't think MY mother could do anything about it. Her mother said that I was making things up. I told my best friend at the time, but really, what can two 7 year old girls do against that 9 year old girl? Absolutely nothing. And I thought that if my older sister got wind of me tattling, and not being able to take a hit, that I would never hear the end of it. And I was very afraid that if I told my mother that this would be something else for her to make fun of me for, another reason to hit me. So, I kept silent.

I lived a very happy, bully-free life for the next couple of years. And I let everything that had happened in Missouri live in the past. I was young, there was no reason to hold a grudge against a girl that had obviously been in pain. I just forgot about the whole thing.

Then, shortly after my 12th birthday, it all started again.

This is where I have to be careful with my stories. This was in my somewhat recent past. I don't want to point fingers, to blame. I have forgiven all those that have hurt me in the past. That being said...I'll continue with my story.

I had been friends with a group of girls. Out of the blue, I was ejected from that group. And that group turned on me. It was rarely physical, but very, very emotional.

I spent a year of my life very depressed. I felt like I didn't have anyone that I could turn to. I wasn't friends with my sisters, my mother, anyone in my family. Literally every friend that I had had, no longer wanted anything to do with me. I was lost. However, I didn't like this uber sad feeling I always had, obviously, so I kept trying. Something my 12 year old brain didn't quite grasp was that I should probably try to make friends ELSEWHERE. But no, I kept trying with the SAME group of girls. If you guessed that NOTHING good came out of this, you would be 110% correct.

I was contemplating suicide. Very strongly. I know this seems extreme, I mean, it wasn't THAT bad. I'm not saying it was rational. It just was. And...I made a few, very feeble, attempts on my life. Please don't press me for details, that's still under lock and key. The thing was, I didn't WANT to die. I just...didn't want to live.

On a very pivotal night, I met someone that totally turned everything around for me. I stopped having suicidal thoughts, for the most part.

As I got older, the bullying and abuse got a little bit easier to handle. But, it was still there, and very prominent in my life. I would get the usual mean words, hateful notes, etc. I'd get thrown in the dumpsters after seminary on a somewhat regular basis. On one occasion it bruised my tailbone severely. I would get judged, and mocked, and made fun of, up until the beginning of the summer 2013.

March 2013 I did something really hard. And...it sorta messed me up. I lost the person I confided in the most, the person that kept my chin up when I was feeling especially insecure, a certain persons comments were really hurting, or my depression was threatening to come back. I no longer had a partner in crime. And guys, I felt so so guilty for what I did. I still do. It's one of those things that has stayed with me for a while.

I betrayed someone's trust so entirely, that I betrayed my own trust. Does that even make sense?

I've been left by a lot people in my life. Only three have impacted the way that I feel about myself. This is one of them. The other two impacted me in different ways, and they are definitely supplementary to my depression, but I'm not at the point where I can rehash those things. They're still a little too personal.

The point of this post is...well, this is my story. I'm letting the cat out of the bag. I can count on one hand how many people know ANY of this story, and I am the sole person that knows all of this.

And now you all know. yayy...

It's about time I share this. Even though this hurts, I have to come to terms with why I feel the way I feel, ya know? I kept allllll of behind VERY thick walls until October 2013. That's a really long time to keep all that pain to yourself. And the first time I told someone about part of this...man, I can't tell you how good it felt. And it gets easier every time I tell part of it. And I have to come to terms with my problems. If you're still reading this, you're probably really bored. Because this story is neither fun or fascinating.

I'm battling with depression, an eating disorder, and self harm. And basically...this is my story.

This post isn't so I can get pity from anyone, but the point of it is basically to say, literally anyone could be struggling. For the most part, I've done a pretty good job of hiding ALL of this. You never know who's struggling.

Who's to say my ankles are fat?

It seems like no matter how confident a person you are, there are always going to be those people that try to tear you down. It could be something small and insignificant. It could be something big. And for some people, the more confident, they can let that insult roll right off of them, and continue to be the wonderful people that they are, untainted.

And I'm jealous of those people.

Because I fall in a different category of people. The people that let those snide comments stick to them like gum sticks to the bottom of a picnic table. The longer those mean words are in the mind, the harder it is to remove them, just like the gum(gross analogy, I know. Bear with me).

Everyone has insecurities, small or large. If you let those insecurities hold you back, well, you'll miss out on a lot of things.

I'm one of those people that's held on to every little mindless remark. And then I let other insecurities stem off of them. Oh, I have a really dry nose? Officially obsessed with that fact.

And that's so dumb. Why should I care if I have dry skin on my nose? Why should ANYBODY care? The answer is, simply, I'm the only one that cares. On the off chance that someone even NOTICES, they're just going to dismiss it, because they're not going to care. It's a little dry skin, whatever, next observation, please. When you focus on an insecurity, you're the only one noticing. You're the only one grieving over the fact that your voice is a little bit gravelly, even though you're a girl. Seriously. You're the only one who notices.

And your insecurities? Other people find them endearing, cute, even. Sometimes those are the things people love about you? Yeah, I love that you have a gap between your teeth. Yeah, I love that you pick all your nail polish off within a day of painting your nails. Yeah, I love that your eyebrows are uneven. Yeah, I love that you can eat as much, if not more, than the average growing male. Someone out there loves those things you're beating yourself up over. So cut it out, and learn to love yourself.

That being said. I have an incredibly hard time accepting my faults. And I know I've done posts similar to this one before, so I'm sorry if this is a little bit too repetitive for you.  If you're getting annoyed, please bathe yourself in the nearest toilet. I assure you that you'll be a lot more tolerant of my ramblings after doing so.

This post is basically helping me accept my faults, my insecurities. I'm letting you guys see some of them. I'm a beautiful, worthwhile human being. I shouldn't be beating myself up over tiny, temporal flaws, but rather, loving myself the way God made me.

No hate. This was a hard post for me to write, a hard picture for me to post. I'm putting this out there for me, so I can accept myself.

And hey. I love you, random citizen.