tw: body dysmorphia/body insecurities

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if I said I didn't wake up with a throbbing headache and an upside-down stomach on Saturday. My memory was hazy, but my body aches reminded me I consumed enough alcohol to get an entire Viking fleet drunk.

Sadie, why must you lack self-awareness and self-control? I hadn't felt this shitty since the Halloween party this past October. The memories of dragging Lucy up the dorm stairs in her bumblebee costume while trying to avoid the RA's made me shudder. I wondered if I had been that wasted last night.

I attempted to move my stiff legs and groaned when I felt grainy specks covering my sheets. Lifting the covers, I noted my clothes from last night and the sand—a lot of sand. It looked like I brought the beach home with me.

"Ugh," I cried out, rolling off my mattress and pausing to gain balance.

The earth shifted under my weight like I was still drunk. I rested my hand on the wall.

Today would not be fun. My blood was already boiling because I washed my sheets last week and needed to do it again. So, I stripped my bed and threw them in the wash, careful not to get sand all over the apartment. Then I undressed and climbed into the shower to scrub off last night's mess.

If it wasn't for Iya's soberness, we would have been sleeping in the ocean with the fish. I was thankful we made it home safely to our apartment nestled in a corner off-campus but surprised the girls walked me up three flights of stairs and put me to bed.

While the hot water cascaded down my back, I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the shower tiles. I swear I heard my skin sizzle.

"Are you alive in there?" Reva's voice boomed through the bathroom door.

"Barely," I mumbled back.

"I've got coffee and bagels out here."

I thanked her and continued scrubbing until my skin was a bright red. Even though my stomach gurgled like I was on the verge of throwing up, I felt refreshed and was ready to start the day.

As I dried off in front of the mirror, my hands trailed to my stomach. I pinched and prodded at my belly, my hips, my breasts. I gripped the inside of my thighs, tracing my finger over my cellulite. With every bump, my heart cracked open wider.

My body didn't look right. It never looked right. As much as I tried exercising and eating right, it stayed the same. My conscience piped in, convincing myself it was bloating from the alcohol before I spiraled any further. Not having the energy to fight me, I blew out a shaky breath and threw on an oversized sweatshirt so I didn't have to see my rolls.

When I entered the living room, I found Reva, Lucy, and Iya lounging with mugs in their hands. There were blankets strewn across the floor alongside two pillows. Like most party nights, Iya and Lucy spent the night instead of driving back to campus.

They were slumped on the couch in sweats, watching reruns of Dexter. Except for Iya, the girls looked like someone had hit them with a tractor-trailer. I looked and felt the same, if not worse.

"Good morning pong queen," Lucy said. I snorted, pouring myself a heaping cup of coffee, and plopped onto the armchair with a sigh, careful not to spill.

"I barely remember last night."

"You don't remember kissing Dustin, then breaking his heart when you switched teams and won the game with Elijah?"

What? I blinked and rummaged through my brain for the memories, but they were only visible in bits and pieces. The pieces I didn't care for, like kissing Dustin. I remembered it so vividly, probably because of how wet his lips were. Yet, I don't recall winning the game with Elijah.

Though, I remember his passiveness.

"You look pale. If you're going to puke, please do it in the sink or something," Reva whined.

I waved her off. "Did I talk to Elijah?"

"Yeah, but we were too far to hear," Iya said. "You really blacked, huh?"

Did I? I must've. But I'd never blacked out before, and the thought of it terrified me. The harder I searched my brain, the more gaps I found in my memory. Or, as Lucy liked to say, our internal hardware was damaged. Usually, I was the person reminding my friends what happened the night before, not the other way around.

What irritated me most of all was I couldn't remember talking to Elijah. I didn't know what I could've possibly said to him, or what he said to me. Did I cuss him out? Did he apologize for ruining my painting? That was our first genuine encounter, and I have no recollection.

I smacked my forehead as if the impact would jump-start my brain and I vowed to never drink excessively again.

"Did I do anything weird?"

"Not that I saw." Reva looked toward the girls, who also shook their heads no. "After the game, we sat by the bonfire for a little, then left. It got boring."

My shoulders drooped in reassurance, and I clamped my mouth shut. We spent the rest of the morning talking about how their night went. Reva mentioned she got a girl's phone number. Iya made a friend with the same major, and Lucy met a guy who could get us into bigger parties. I was glad their night went better than mine.

"Oh, you fell in the sand when we were leaving," Reva added.

"That explains the sand in my bed."

"We tried to clean you off, but you told us you liked it dirty," Iya said.

We all paused, then burst out laughing. I hung my head in my hands, wishing I could push a button to redo yesterday.

The following Monday, I walked into art class, ridden with nerves. Not only did I have to face my professor, but I also had college writing with Elijah in the afternoon. I would rather fall out of the broken window than face either of them.

The hushed conversations of students buzzed through the room like bees. If word hadn't got around about the incident before, it will now. The large plastic tarp secured over the hole in the window might as well be a neon sign saying "look here!"

One girl in my class I was friendly with faced me. "Weren't you in here when that happened, Sadie?"

I tied my apron. "I was."

"Oh, that must've been scary," a guy next to her said. "You didn't get hurt, right?"

"No, thank goodness." I laughed. "Only my project." And my ego.

I motioned to the empty canvas secured on my easel. They peered over and made a sour face when they saw nothing there. My face was stuck in a bitter expression. I needed to talk to my professor about what the hell I was going to do. Midterms were due next week and my project was destroyed. All of those long classes and Friday nights were wasted.

"Alright everyone, the class time is yours," Melissa—the professor and building manager—said. She put on her record player and Erik Satie "Gymnopedie" flowed through the tall room. Classical music sparked my creative side in a way I could not explain, but not today. It felt like someone had rung me out like a dirty dishrag.

My professor made her rounds, silently critiquing our work.

Was I supposed to recreate what was destroyed? If this project was a landscape painting, I could have it completed in the blink of an eye. However, it was a portrait, and that gutted me. I knew I'd have to bend over backward to muster up a piece worthy of an A.

I spent the entire two hours of class sketching, choosing colors, and preparing the canvas. When it was time to go, my bandwidth was sucked dry. I was in dire need of a coffee or a power nap. As I hung my apron on its hook and readied to leave, my professor called my name.

"Sadie, do you have time to chat?"

A wave of anxiety rippled through my body, causing my heart to race. I wasn't in trouble, but having a professor ask to talk was terrifying. "Yeah, sure," I said calmly.

She sat on the edge of her desk, her glasses slipped down her nose. I waited for her to speak, adjusting my bag that sat heavily on my shoulder.

"I wanted to apologize for the incident on Friday. We've had issues with the baseball field before and I'm sorry we put you in that position."

"Oh, no need to apologize. It's not your fault," I said, immediately.

She smiled, then continued. "I'm also sorry about your project. If it wasn't such a large part of the curriculum, I would exempt you, but I can't do that. However, I can give you an extension. I've spoken with the art director and she's willing to give two more weeks."

My eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. "Wow, that's very kind. Thank you."

I wasn't expecting them to be so flexible. I doubt it came from the kindness in their hearts, although I would like to believe that it did. It was probably to avoid a lawsuit for endangering and almost killing me with a speeding ball. Either way, I didn't care.

"We have one more thing to offer," she said, and I drummed my fingers eagerly on my thighs. "We understand if you do not want to take it, but we appreciate your hard work cleaning, and we'd like to offer a job in the gallery downstairs. You may use the studio any evening to catch up, just email me before."

My eyebrows nearly touched my hairline.

The gallery wasn't hiring. They never were. I knew because I checked our campus website religiously for openings. But not a single one had appeared in the two years I'd been here. To say I was shocked they were offering me a job was an understatement. I could finally quit at the restaurant.

"Yes," I said a little too fast then repeated slowly, "Yes, I would love to."

"That's great to hear, we'll be in touch. Keep checking your school email."

I thanked Melissa and left the room. When the door latched behind me, I paused in the breeze-way and bounced on my toes in sheer excitement. I covered my gaping mouth to hide my squeal, or else I'd scare everyone in the building.

I should almost get hit with balls more often.

Looking to my right, out of the large windows, I stared at the desolate baseball field. I came to terms that there were no recent memories of Friday evening that would surface. Lucy was right, my hard drive was wiped. But I didn't care.

Mister he-hits-where-he-hits was a distant thought. I had a second chance on my painting and a new job under my belt. Back into solitude, I went.

Digging my phone out of my pocket, I scrolled to my sister's contact and hit call. She answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Lee." I walked toward The Coffee Shack on campus.

"My little artist," she said with a fake French accent, making me laugh. "How are you?"

"Well, it's been a wild past couple of days. How are you?"

She sighed loudly. "I'm very pregnant and sick and in dire need of entertainment, so spill," she said.

I pictured her lying in bed with a rag over her eyes like mother used to do for us when we weren't feeling well. As much as I loved my sister, I'm glad I wasn't her roommate, especially while she was pregnant. Poor Mason—my soon-to-be brother-in-law—was probably put through the wringer. However, I miss her tremendously.

"You still have a long way to go. Think you're going to make it?"

"With lots of snacks and back massages, yes."

Suddenly, a loud wailing sound boomed in the background. I pulled the phone from my ear, then put it back. "Oh gosh, Mason is singing again. He's been listening to a lot of U2 lately, it's been very intense during shower time."

Boisterous laughter spilled out of me. "Tell him I think he sounds wonderful."

"I can't boost his ego anymore. It's already in outer space," she joked, then asked about my weekend. I told her the entire story, from the home run to the bonfire, up until now. She listened intently, chiming in every so often with a rhetorical comment.

"Good to know you handle your liquor just as well as I do. Remember that night when I was a sophomore, and you drove to Greenoak and I got shit-faced and ended up in Mason' apartment?"

"Oh my gosh, yes. That was around the time I got my license." I smiled at the memory.

"I was so mad at Allison for letting you come to that party."

I entered the cafe, and the scent of coffee grounds and cinnamon flooded my nose. It was much quieter here than on campus. Students filled the area, most of them doing homework or sitting with friends. I asked Leila to give me a second as I approached the counter. After I ordered my usual, a regular coffee with a splash of almond milk, I perched on a couch.

"You really can't remember anything?" She resumed our conversation about me blacking out.

"Nope. I'm so pissed at myself."

"Blacking out happens to the best of us. But as long as you're in good company in a safe environment, then it's okay." Leila's maternal instinct kicked in. My lips tugged into a smile at the gesture. "But, we missed a pertinent point, baseball boys."

"What about them?"

"You played pong with one. Was he cute?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, Elijah's face filled my mind. Those calloused hands, messy brown hair, and brown eyes. Of course, he was cute. Hell, he was hot, but I wanted nothing to do with him or the baseball team.

However, I must've been quiet for too long because Leila took my silence as a yes and squealed into the phone.

"No, no, no," I interrupted. "The only thing good about those boys is the way their ass looks in baseball pants."

"I can't argue with that."

"But cute? Nope," I lied, then checked the time. "Hey, I have a class in ten, I've got to go."

She told me to call her later, and I hung up.

My feet slapped against the sidewalk as I walked toward the English building. There were heaps of students swarming the hub, also known as the center of campus. To the right of the buildings was a large patch of grass. Students laid out on blankets and others sat at the circle tables, drinking coffee and staring at their computers.

The number of people didn't surprise me. Despite it being late March, I could feel the summer weather lurking early in the air. The sun shone through puffy white clouds, and the temperature was comfortable enough for shorts and a sweatshirt.

While I wished I could be outside, I took my place in the lecture hall and pulled out my computer. Thankfully, this class was only fifty minutes and the last one of the day, then I could go home and relax.

As I readied my notes, Reva appeared out of nowhere, plopped beside me in our usual seats, and took my coffee. My eyes lit up at the sight of her. "You're never going to believe what happened," I said.

"What?"

"My project date was extended two weeks, and they offered me a job in the gallery."

Reva's jaw nearly smacked the floor. "Holy shit, Sade!"

"I know," I whispered, beaming like a child on Christmas.

"You've been looking for an opening since we got here."

I narrowed my eyes deviously. "I know."

"Does that mean you're gonna quit working at the restaurant?"

"If they pay well at the gallery, then yes."

"Wow, all thanks to Elijah," she said a little too loud, and I smacked her arm. My neck almost broke as I looked around the room to make sure he didn't hear.

The seats were half-filled, most people minding their own business, staring at their phone or computer. When my eyes reached the back of the room, I exhaled in relief. He wasn't here yet. Thank our Lord and Savior.

"No, thanks to my good work ethic," I corrected her, taking my coffee back, noting her pale lipstick residue left on the white lid. She chuckled, leaning back in her seat.

The last of the students entered the room, but I didn't turn to see who they were. Elijah was bound to be in the mix, and I didn't want to face him. He probably remembered Friday and I didn't, which irked me.

The loud creaking of overlap desks ensued as our professor connected his computer to the projector. A PowerPoint slide appeared that read: What is a thesis and where do you put it in an academic essay? I internally groaned and began typing.

But I felt eyes burning holes in the back of my skull.

Slowly, I veered my head to my right, peering over my shoulder. When the back of the classroom came into sight, there he was. Elijah was seated in his usual seat typing away. He was slackened in his chair, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head to hide him.

Before I looked away, his eyes locked with mine but I turned my head back to the front of the classroom before seeing his reaction.

Shit, I've been caught.

I didn't turn around for the rest of the class.

Forty-five minutes later, our professor turned off the projector and let us out early. Though it was only five minutes, I was giddy. As we gathered our belongings and followed the herd out of the room.

"What about that Thai place on William street?"

She puckered her lips in satisfaction. "Oh, yes."

We pushed through the exit, and I felt a nudge on my shoulder. I turned to see who bumped into me, and my heart skipped a beat. Elijah was facing me while walking backward. Some of his friends walked with him as they headed in the opposite direction from Reva and me.

With one arm holding his textbook, he pointed at me with his free hand. "Glad to see you're alive, Van Gogh," he shouted.

Reva stared back and forth between us.

So did his teammates.

The moment the nickname left his lips, the image of us high-fiving at the pong table flashed in my mind. I remembered winning, the way Dustin's face fell, and my clapping friends. Triumph simmered through me from the recollection.

However, I realized I had to reply or I would look weird, so I yelled back. "Yep, sadly."

His flat expression turned amused, and he shook his head.

Then he casually faced the front and walked away, leaving me blushing.

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annasteffeyy

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Body Dysmorphic Disorder (BDD)

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