I started off college looking completely different than I did six months prior and I now look vastly different from that version of myself, as well. Throughout August I chopped my hair off in an act of validation, dropped 15 pounds on accident (I think my body was eating itself from the inside out), and my skin started breaking out when it used to be smooth and poreless. I asked the world why it wanted me to look disfigured when I was already sad, I begged for it to admit to its cruel joke.

I decided to blame Missouri's water pressure and air quality and my lack of company. Victimhood was easier than admitting that I was changing due to how I treated myself. My first three months of college consisted of taking breaks in between classes to cry, eating my first meal at 3 p.m., and sleeping for 14 hours of the day.

Would that improve anyone's mental or physical state?

It took me a while to realize that my perception of myself was morphed because of my negligence towards my needs.

There was some perverse part of me that felt a sense of pride when my mom would comment on the depth of my collarbones or my roommates would ask if I was taking another nap. Part of me wanted to hurt, and I indulged in that segment of myself for a while.

I think my greatest change came throughout winter break, slowly inching normalcy back into my life again. I saw my friends, I felt the warmth of my own bed sheets, I tried to correct my mistakes, though I sometimes made even bigger ones along the way.

Coming back to school for the spring semester felt new. I think my body finally convinced my brain that kinder actions were in order; my mind released the strings that were harshly pulling my tired figure.

I remember having this realization when I thought about my morning routine. First semester I would wake up 20 minutes before class, never wear makeup, my hair always messy in this weird mullet-bun (à la my previous haircut), and trudge out the door, waiting for whenever I could lay in my bed again.

Second semester I noticed that I was gentler with myself; I put on makeup because it made me feel good, I experimented with styles, I ate breakfast. This progression was slow yet sudden, care edging its way into my routine once more.

I say these things because we are now at a point of isolation, as deep as the one I felt six months ago, and maybe you did too.

I am forcing myself to be gentle; careful on my body, doing things that make me feel good, trying to teach my bones their worth.

Quarantine is a fickle thing, giving me plenty of opportunity to deface my image. I can look at my weight gain as fat, but I know its regenerative, showing that I am no longer picking myself apart with food. I can still look at my skin as broken, or I can choose to notice its improvement.

With as much time as I have on my hands, it is possible to reevaluate my thoughts about myself. The first thought may be negative, but the second thought swoops in to spare me from the unfair disdain that creeps into our minds.

With this long-winded journal entry about my struggles and growth, I hope you are able to take into account what improvements you have made for yourself.

Instead of blaming factors you cannot control (water pressure, air quality, lack of company), credit things that you are doing to improve yourself daily.

This two-step thought process has changed me by teaching me kindness outside of what I exude towards other people. I hope everyone is able to be kind to themselves when the world seems so rough.

Sometimes, it is all we can do.