The crushing weight of an eating disorder |
I hate rooms surrounded by mirrors. Shop changing rooms – Bad enough having to try on clothes Without having to look at myself Doing it. Dance studios – Already feeling awkward and ungainly Like a seal out of water. I don’t need to see it. Gyms – Having to watch myself sweating, Pink and out of breath, Makes me feel ill. The worst of it is that You all say I see it wrong. I “make clothes look great”. I’m “as graceful as a swan”. I’m “as fit as an athlete”. You ask how I can think I’m fat When I “do over a day of exercise a week”, Am a “slim size 12”, You can “see my bones”. All I see is the bulges (“curves”), My double chin (“imagined”), My fat stomach (“washboard”), My flab (“muscles”), Myself. That’s the crux of it. It’s me. And it hurts that I can’t see me as you do. Don’t you think I’d love to? You can say what you like – “You’re gorgeous” “You do a mile in 8 minutes” “You bench-press 80 kilos”, But what does it matter If I don’t hear, Or can’t understand, Or don’t know how? Some day in the future, I dream of release, Of seeing myself as you see me, As others see me. But for now, This is the way I am – I diet, I exercise, I cry. And I hate rooms surrounded by mirrors. |