I woke up this morning wanting to disappear. The sensation that I thought I had forgotten, has managed to creep into my bed as I slept. I woke up this morning, unsure if I wanted to hurt myself or hurt someone else. And so, I stumbled out of the awful lumpy mattress that I sleep on each night. I flicked the light switch only to see my reflection for what it seems the millionth time. Exhausted, I pinch at the fat under my chin and ask myself, “when the fuck is it going to go away?” The hatred builds up the more I stare at myself in the mirror. I think to myself, “why would anyone love me? Care about me?” I’m not sure what my friends see in me. They call me beautiful but I don’t believe it.
I visited my father a few weeks ago, first thing he says as I hug him is “Wow, you’ve gained so much weight. You need to exercise.”
And that’s what hits me right to my core. He’s always told me I’m fat since I was a little girl. Whenever I came home with a report card, I’d expect a beating because I never met his expectations. His words cut through my soul when I was younger. In his eyes, I was stupid and fat. So, to this day this is what I see in the mirror: a worthless waste of time and space.
At the age of 8, I started binding belts around my waist to make myself look slimmer. I used to want to be slim like the swimsuit models in the Giorgio Armani commercials. Looking back on it now, it’s absurd that an eight year old wanted to have the sex appeal and appearance of a model. I wanted to become a symbol of beauty ever since I was a little girl. Now that I am 18 years old, I still struggle with my body appearance because I find myself eating less and less up to the point where it’s unhealthy. I used to have one meal a day, and exercise until my body couldn’t take it. I tried, I really did. But I never got to teach myself how to love the person who’s important…me.