Why I love my Jamberry

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Last night I watched an episode of How I Met Your Mother where two characters were signing prenups and one of the stipulations was that the woman had to pay money to the man for every pound she gained. I looked down at my monstrosity of a body, downed a ton of laxatives, and went to bed.

I woke up today seriously dehydrated and with a massive migraine. It’s just now going away (at almost 5am, so it technically started yesterday) and I am feeling restless after spending all day in bed, so I decided to do my nails.

I finished and sat admiring them. Having my nails look nice is the single thing I like about my appearance. It’s the one thing that makes me feel pretty.

If you could see inside my head, you would know it’s not a pretty place. I never think well of myself. But when I look at my nails, always pretty, feel pretty. For that brief moment, I’m not the ogre, the troll, the gelatinous monster, I am feminine and pretty and have worth and value.

I know these are stupid reasons to love a product, but they are real. And I know my worth shouldn’t be in whether I have pretty nails, but, sadly, it is. And it’s probably the BDD talking, and I get that, but it doesn’t change the truth of my feelings to me.

When I see my pretty nails, for a moment, I transform in my own mind from the beast to a princess.

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