One. Two. Three. Four. How many pounds until the scale isn’t broken? What mirror heads the wrinkles on my forehead?What makeup will it take to hide the blemishes? These clothes don’t fit. What is it that will make my skin feel real again?
Anxiety grew and depression ensued. One. Two. Three. Four. How many ribs can I feel through my skin? Does my collar bone show? Can you see my spine through my clothes? And the ritual continues.
This is self perception and no one can fix that. It is your reality. -J.F original poetry 9/18/17.
Childhood perfectionist I always needed to make everyone proud. My achievements were largely capsulated by being beautiful. I needed to keep this going. I refused to be the last of kin who let the family down. At age 16 I was distributed diet pills from my mother and the cycle spiraled with every pound I lost. I was more encouraged to be thinner than everyone. As my weight fluctuates and I aged I became more and more obsessive over how to be perfect again.
I’m 32 and still spend countless hours Checking the mirror. Sucking in my stomach wishing the reflection would be an improvement. Dreading the scale but needing it like an abusive relationship. Realistically I understand that this compulsion is drowning me. Days lost of my life scanning my body for every imperfection. Those days lost are no deterrent. I don’t care about the DSMV diagnosis or the healthy BMI. I want to be thin.
This is a real disease. Unfortunately many people don’t understand the all consuming nature of its debelating ways. I assure you it is not a means for compliments or attention. It causes shame, ruins relationships, job opportunities, leads to self harm and numbing with isolation or substances. It can lead to places you never want to go and things you will never get back. Maybe death.
So that’s synopsis of what it’s like living with this.