As often seems to be the case, I have no clue where this story came from, nor do I know if I like it. But, it's here, and I will have to deal with that...with a lot of therapy, naturally. The title is from Kelly Clarkson's song 'Beautiful Disaster' (yes, I know I've already used that song, but it happens) and I guess I was inspired by the song too. Anyway, just a little drabble, I think this might actually be my unoffical 60th story on fanfiction, but since 'Untitled' got taken off, it's my 59th...I think. I should check that. But I am cooking something up for the big 6-0, and also let it be known that I've already started on the next chapter for 'Smoke and Mirrors'..yep, I'm unstoppable (probably end up with writers block halfway through, but I digress) So please read and review, and as always, I love you all!
I do not own friends/actors/characters/Kelly Clarkson, but I do wish Haley Joel Osment the best...I know he doesn't read this page (well, perhaps he does?) but I am rather fond of the kid(man)!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monica could barely recall a time when she wasn't being judged by those around her.
Family, friends, enemies, people who didn't even know her…
Her family didn't even know her. Sometimes, it seemed as though her friends didn't either.
These people, people who had no idea of the real her – the her behind the fat, behind the image, behind the eyes – saw a chubby little girl who didn't care enough to try.
These people; their judging eyes saw, in her, failure.
Monica saw tears in the mirror; chubby face tightly concealing the hysteria threatening to rise.
A happy charade covered her tracks, a healthy diet lost her weight, yet still the mirror reflected tears, only this time it was a gaunt face covering the hysteria.
People would always judge.
Where the fat had vanished, obsession had surfaced; obsession that had been buried almost as deep as the hysteria.
Cleanliness, order. It had to be organised, everything had to be organised.
Still people judged. Still she cleaned and scared them away.
And still the happy charade went on, hiding the hysteria that was aching to be released, leaving to wonder not how, but only when it would surface.