I struggle with self image. I don’t think I’m pretty enough, thin enough, toned enough, tall enough, my hair isn’t long enough, and the list goes on and on.
I look at myself and I stare at myself, picking at everything I can. But when I’m in public, I don’t look in the mirror, ever. I’m afraid of seeing my reflection and lusting over the imperfections while others think that I’m full of myself.
I sometimes wear loose clothing so that people can’t actually see that I’m not thin enough. Sometimes I wear tight clothing so that I can prove to people that I am thin enough, that I am good enough. That I am worth being a person.
I have to convince myself to eat. I don’t want to. But I talk to myself. I tell myself. I tell myself to eat because that’s what normal people do, and I want to be normal. But sometimes I don’t eat, I don’t win the battle against myself. I don’t eat because I want to be better than normal people. I don’t want to be normal and like everyone else, I want to be better, different, special.
I go hungry because I like the feeling of hunger. I sometimes brag about it. Hey, look at me I haven’t eaten in so long. I bet you can’t do that. Or maybe you can. Let’s not try because then I will be tempted to beat that number. I like the feeling of hunger because it’s pain. It’s pain that I control, it makes me forget about the pain and the numbness that I can’t control. This kind of pain makes me happy. It allows me, it helps me go on with my day. It’s all the strength I need to get through until the next day. Until the next battle with myself.
No one knows that I do this on purpose. I always say that it’s accidental. I tell people that I just forgot. I have too much to do. I drink too much water. I don’t like eating so close to my bed time. Oh, I didn’t wake up early enough this morning to eat breakfast. It’s too late for lunch, I’ll just eat at dinner. Oops, almost bed time.
When I eat, I feel gross. I try not to, I try not to think about it. But when it’s so overwhelming I feel disgusted. I can practically feel the food I ate sticking onto my bone. Putting on weight. Satisfying my hunger that doesn’t need to be satisfied. Make the feeling that is familiar go away. I need it to come back. I drink some soda and attempt to throw up. And then I think about all the damages that is going to happen to my digestive system and everything else so I stop. I crawl into bed and I lay there.
I want to be healthy, to be fit. I want to have the perfect digestive system. I want to be fit, do things that other people aren’t able to do. Do a handstand. Lift weights. I also want to be thin, as thin as can be. I need to exceed everyone on all levels. What is this called? Perfectionism? Borderline anorexia? Or maybe it’s just normal. I opt for the third answer.