Control...

My body had rejected my mind's overbearing ways.
The mind supports everything else; telling my lungs to pump air to my fragile heart where it gets churned into my blood, surging around my listless body, circulating in my hands and feet.
The body is not meant to control the mind, but that is what mine did, whispering hateful nothings to my blank chalkboard mind.
My body contaminated my mind with tainted images of what my body thought it should look like.
My body told my mind that my thighs were too chunky, that my hips were too wide, that my stomach was too pudgy.
My mind started to believe it from looking around me and seeing fun-house distorted images of 'pretty'.
My body is breaking away from the distortions.
I am not going to be controlled by airbrushed, fake, cosmetically appealing people that are not real and the standards they set that can never be reached.
I am healthy and that is all that matters.
Even if I can't wear a size 0, I look good in my jeans and I wear what I am comfortable in.
Why sacrifice myself for the distortions of the media?
It shouldn't matter what size a girl is in order to have a positive image about herself.
As long as you are healthy, be happy.

(What brought this around was a body image seminar I went to last week. And also complete boredom in psychology.)