I stared at myself in the full length mirror as I did most every day, before stepping naked on the scales and breathing out a sigh of relief. I’d lost another half kilo. I glanced up to the mirror again. Where though? All I could see was my hideous self as I had been yesterday. But math doesn’t lie, even when it doesn’t seem to line up with reality. Putting my clothes back on and going into the kitchen, my reflection spoke to me from the window
“Don’t get cocky. You’re still the useless, worthless, ugly piece of shit you were yesterday.”
I nodded and she agreed with me, nodding too.
“But I’m here to help you aren’t I?” she purred “If we keep going we’ll be able to disappear just like you want us to.”
Had anybody else said those words to me, I would have been embarrassed and ashamed. But those oh-so familiar chocolate brown eyes stared back at me like a child looking at a beetle under a glass. I knew she had the power. But I was glad that she did, because I hated making my own decisions. Besides, she only did it because it was what I wanted. I understood that. After five mournful laps of the kitchen, I settled with my green tea and a slice of bread to make my stomach quiet and trudged upstairs to get changed and showered. Thirty minutes later I was sitting on my bed in my school uniform and damp plaited hair, I stared into the mirror with eyes travelling slowly down my body.
I hated every single damn thing about my body with a flaming passion. From my obnoxiously large feet to my disproportionate calves; from my disgustingly fat thighs to my horribly round stomach; from my huge chest to my ridiculous hair. Nothing was ever right about my body, yet I was so weak. During the day I’d feel horrible about myself. Then I’d see my friends and completely switch personalities to become a confident, happy, sarcastic bitch. Whenever I was around them, or irresistibly sweet food (not food, poison) I’d feel like I was always just being ridiculous. I was fine really. Then when they were both absent the “me” I thought of as real would emerge guilty, with a finger jammed down the throat and a whispered promise of “tomorrow”
As though she knew exactly what I was thinking, a smirk began crawling across her face. She kicked the mirror to the floor leaving me alone with my self-hatred. But no way did I want to cry this morning, so less than five minutes later my earphones were plugged in and legs practically running as though avoiding an unfortunate fate to school.
If I said school was a burden, it would be nothing but a lie. If I said it was a blessing that would be even more so. Around my friends, happiness was abundant and I felt it whether I liked it or not. And I really didn’t. Around my classmates and strangers I could relax feeling slightly more invisible. Still, when spoken to I crawled into my shell a little more, looking for comfort with a little pink notebook of sketches and drawings. They were lies too. Only drawn in hope of praise, and barely good enough to be considered extraordinary. School was not a problem floating through it as a prodigy of sorts. No different from home, other than the temptation of sweet tastes replaced by that of sweet words, drawing me in and trying to make me think I wasn’t a waste of space. Again more lies. Lies, falsities, fabrications, myths. Plenty of time for daydreaming of a better tomorrow when attempting to ignore today.