I wish I were Jessica Alba.

Yesterday I had the thought that I wish I could trade bodies with Jessica Alba. I wished I could, at least for one day, wake up in her body. Would that not feel amazing? How relaxed I would feel if I could have her arms, her legs, her abs. Peace at last. 

And then I thought that if I did wake up as her, would my life really be so much different? Wouldn’t I still eat and not know when to stop? Wouldn’t I still have an insatiable appetite for snickers bars? And what about when I had to go through a difficult problem as the beloved Jessica, perhaps Quentin was making a new Sin City film and was unjustly demanding or the New York Times criticized my acting skills in my latest chick flick. Would I not get completely stressed out and wait until my family to be asleep so I could quietly stuff last night’s leftovers into my mouth?

If I had her body but I still had my mind, all of the pain would still be present.The pain about feeling inferior, and disconnected, to others. I would still isolate myself from other people, all the while fantasizing that they loved me. And then I would eat. 

My third thought was that perhaps having the perfect body isn’t the answer. This led me to think that losing weight isn’t really what I want. 

What I want is to stop thinking about food so much. I want to stop feeling disconnected from others, stop trying to impress everyone into falling in love with me. I want others to accept me, praise me, call me popular and other pleasing adjectives behind my back. And goddamn it, I want it now. 

A few mornings ago I woke up after a week of successful dieting (where I had made so much progress, really changing my food habits one and for all!) and all I could think about was the Nestle chocolate bar sitting on the coffee table in the living room. That was all I could think about. It was like it was apart of me, I was attached to it by a string and there was no way I was getting away. I tried to go back to sleep. I thought about my food diary and how writing down a chocolate bar, first thing in the morning no less, would make me feel bad. But, in a moment of thrill and excitement and the thought of the sweet, creamy, chocolatey taste in my mouth, going into my body, and filling my soul, I went for it. And that chocolate bar led to a Ferrero Roche chocolate truffle (sitting on the same table), a handful of leftover, soggy noodles, 2 fried eggs, 2 small packaged waffles, 1 large slice of white bread, 1 slice of American cheese, 1 bowl of chocolatey cereal with milk, 2 cups grape juice, 1 Snickers bar, 1 Dove chocolate bar, 1 raspberry danish, and 2 egg tarts. 

Jessica’s body isn’t what I want. Not really, right? 

All I know is that when I try to get the body of a model or a celebrity, or even that beautiful girl in my class that everyone is in love with and I hate (how can her facebook profile picture be that gorgeous? really?), I end up failing. I end up shoveling soggy noodles into my mouth while standing up, praying that no one wakes up and finds me in the kitchen. 

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